


Pretty Little Thing

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:57:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1988964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not Liam's fault that he's a little in love with Harry. If you spent the last four years doing nothing but stare at his face and body while he stood around in pants and not much else, you'd probably find yourself falling a little for him too.</p><p>The only problem is, Liam gets paid to make sure everyone falls a little in love with Harry. Everyone can love Harry a little. Everyone, but Liam.</p><p> </p><p>or the agent!liam, model!harry au that neontrains asked for over a year ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neontrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neontrains/gifts).



> Over a year ago i started writing this from this prompt by **neontrains**... bout time it was finished! so i've watched project runway and a few (way too many) seasons of next top model (in more than a few countries but TYRA IS FIERCE) and The Devil Wears Prada so i obviously have little to NO idea on this industry but this is AU so let's just go with that... and porn because you asked? probably..

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter beta'd by mamacitasan <3

Liam's been Harry's agent since Harry started out with Cowell Models when he was seventeen, growing into this gangling, gorgeous thing. Liam was twenty-three and new to the role, and Harry was his first official 'Model' with a capital M. A capital, because Models were treated like that at Cowell's. Liam had trained under the Simon since he was seventeen himself, when he was somehow mistaken for Simon's latest underling/trainee/assistant and not the trainee assistant to the assistant - or whatever it was - that his mother's friend’s uncle got him the interview for. Matter of fact, he'd never even had the interview. Unless you call waiting outside Simon's office and his sharp "You there, you with the big hair, two of the usual from that place around the corner, and if you bring back that American chain store swill this will be the very first and last of your tasks in this industry, you can count on it!" as an interview of sorts.

He'd miraculously made Simon's order right at the tiny, hole-in-the-wall coffee place around the corner from their building, and that had been that, really. A job for a man who still - after ten years in the office, six of those as Simon's personal assistant - called him "you with the hair." Somehow, along the way with all the strange requests from Simon, his models, and the people who worked around Liam who had _far_ more knowledge than he did - somehow, Liam actually fell in love with that world and his role in it. He worked hard and learned as much as he could until four years ago, when he was deemed capable of running the life of one of the agency’s up and coming talents, and given a desk to boot. Not that a desk meant much, because nobody barring Simon had an office. 

It was on his very first day, at one in the afternoon, that he found a young, fresh out of college Harry Styles sitting in his chair. He was munching on a banana, asking when exactly Liam was going to get him on the cover of _Numero Homme._ The name threw Liam, because how did a seventeen-year-old know about one of - if not _the_ \- top male fashion magazines in France?

They hadn't got there in the past four years, but they'd managed a few high profile covers and spreads in _Grind_ and _VMAN_. Until today when Liam has news to give Harry. Will give Harry, whenever he finally deems it appropriate to arrive at the little caf he insists on whenever they're home in London. Harry's late, which isn't out of the ordinary. If Harry isn't due at a shoot and Liam isn't there to poke and prod - and, on the odd occasion, drag him out of bed - then Harry is _always_ late. Liam's reading over his emails on his phone and sipping at the fourth - or maybe fifth - triple-shot espresso he's had for the day. His hands are on the verge of shaking so bad he'll never be able to get his touch screen to work. 

It's quiet as quiet can be in the middle of the city. There are crowds of locals and tourists passing on the street outside on what is a rare sunny winter’s day. Liam's trying hard not to imagine his life going down another road, a road where he gave singing a proper try, and how worrying about Harry and what event he went to the night before, what pap pics might need to be bought off, wouldn't be his problem. He's trying but failing, because the caf has this incredible playlist of R&B and pop that shouldn't work but does and they're songs Liam's sung in the privacy of his own home a lot. Possibly at karaoke nights, too. For those he's usually incredibly drunk and pushed by an even more bladdered Louis and Zayn. They always find it hilarious to tease him the next morning about his hangover, while begging him to get started on a fry-up. Liam also begins to wonder, while sitting and waiting on Harry - as he often finds himself doing - just what he sees in his two best friends, too.

It's just gone a quarter past three and Liam's about to ring Harry for the third time because he's given up on texting. He has a rule for Harry that twenty unanswered texts is his absolute limit (he doesn't like to look too obsessive). He's got his phone in his hand, halfway to his ear, and is telling Siri to "call Curly," when a familiar shape catches his eye. There's a bright orange beanie that should look garish and so very Halloween tugged over chocolate curls, and the eyes may be hidden by dark glasses but Liam knows that face. He knows it just as well as, or even better than, the entire world, actually. 

Harry lopes through the front door, pigeon-toed and looking not half as glamourous as Liam knows he can. He's in his old brown suede boots and skinny black jeans with a familiar denim jacket with wool lining because Harry hates being cold. There's a gigantic grey scarf around his neck that's seen better days, but Harry's gran knit it for him when he was younger and he's never too far from the thing. Liam may have had to miss his flight home from Germany once because Harry was certain he'd left it in the hotel, only to get halfway back to the sodding place and have Harry text that he'd had it in his hand luggage after all.

All part of the job, really.

Not the best part, but still.

He did get to stare at Harry Styles, top ten model of the year and one to watch in 2014, or whatever it was the magazines were saying this season. They might have been right. Liam certainly didn't find Harry unappealing to gaze at for hours as Harry posed in this position or that and Liam had to hide behind props and lighting fixtures just in case he had an untimely pants situation. 

Because the thing . . . the real thing about Harry is that Liam likes him. A lot. Too much. It's definitely not going to be a problem, though, because Liam won't let it. Harry is a model and he's Liam's client, and you just don't mix business with pleasure. Not at Cowell's, that's for certain.

"Hiya, Li," Harry says, interrupting Liam's appraisal of Harry's long fingers as they unwind the scarf at his neck. Long and thin and evenly proportioned with the large palms they were joined to. Liam can't tear his eyes from Harry's large hands as he twists the wool into a bunch to place on his lap and sits down across from Liam.

Liam forces himself to take a deep breath and look up. He finds the freckle just hidden by Harry's left eyebrow - a solitary imperfection, almost - and Harry is Harry Styles, Model, once more. He just has to remind himself of that.

"You're late."

"I always am, that's why you always tell me to get to places an hour earlier than I should so I'll be on time. So really, you're early, mate," Harry says with a grin, reaching over with one of those giant hands of his to pluck at the half-eaten croissant sitting on Liam's plate. The perfect buttery pastry crumbles into pieces on the way back to Harry's side of the table and his mouth. Ruby-red lips in a perfect cupid's bow open up to reveal a long pink tongue that slides out enticingly to grasp at the little that’s left of Liam's late, late lunch plucked from Harry's pinched fingertips.

He hates eating with Harry. It's temptation at its very finest.

Liam frowns and reminds himself for the millionth time since he really started looking at Harry that he can't have this. Harry's his client - probably his friend, too, after all they've been through together, but a client all the same. A client and maybe somewhat attached to Radio One DJ Nick Grimshaw, if the papers are correct. When it comes to Harry, they usually are. Liam doesn't know for sure, never asks about Harry's personal life. He tries to keep things as business-oriented as possible. It's easier that way. 

Well, it was up until one singular phone call that had Liam living in shades of grey with Harry, nothing quite black and white anymore. 

It happened about a year back when Liam was actually on holiday. He never took holidays, but it was his sister’s wedding, so a week away from the job wasn't so bad. It was just after dinner and he was watching a match with his dad when the sounds of “Maneater” filled the air. Bloody Louis thought he was _hilarious_ making that Harry’s personal ringtone. Liam grabbed his phone and wandered upstairs to the privacy of his room before answering. Normally he would have told Harry to call back later at an appropriate time, but there was something in Harry’s tone that made the words stick in Liam’s mouth. He’d had many calls from Harry before; drunk dials and early morning worries, check-ins when he was in a foreign country and needed a to hear an accent that was like a little piece of home. This wasn’t any of those. Harry wasn't drunk or tired or any further than his house in Primrose Hill. Harry just sounded sad. 

Liam could hear it over the phone, the endless questions about his family and the wedding and how Liam was. Harry was filled with all these questions about Liam's life that Liam didn't even know Harry was aware of. He wanted to know if Zayn and Louis had finally admitted they liked each other properly as more than just co-owners of a small yet profitable gaming design company. He wanted to know if Liam's little boxer, Marley, had stopped giving Liam the stinkeye because he’d had the pup desexed the week before. He wanted to know if Liam had finally watched _Tropic Thunder_ after Harry’d overheard him mention it at a shoot in Vietnam that Liam had never actually seen. He talked and Liam did, too, and before he knew it it was well past midnight and he'd been on the phone with Harry for six hours. Six hours of talk about anything that wasn't work and wasn't about Harry. Not that Harry was one of those overly self-absorbed models, by any means, but still. It counted. 

When Liam had finally managed to get a word in that wasn't an answer to one of Harry's questions, he was met by silence. 

"Harry, are you okay?" Liam bit at his lip and studied the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. He could still make out the outline of the posters he'd had tacked there years before. Ones his mother had taken down only a month before when Nicola had announced she was getting hitched and was expecting in four months and, well . . . a grandchild topped your only son then, didn't it?

Harry didn't answer. This quiet went on and Liam could hear Harry breathing, all stuttery and wet and, well . . . Liam didn't know how to handle that.

"Do you need me to come back? I'll come back. I can just . . . I'll come back." Liam was mumbling, already out of bed, throwing his hoodie on and the fluffy green monster-feet slippers Ruth had bought him as a laugh.

"No! No, I'm fine. I'm fine, really, Li."

Liam shook his head. "I'll be as quick as I can. You just - don't do any - I'll be there," he'd said, and he shut the phone off, much as he didn't want to, because Harry was obviously upset and wanted someone to talk to. This was his job, too, wasn't it? This was all part of taking care of your client or something, wasn't it?

Liam knew he was kidding himself. Knew it was stupid to be leaving the night before his sister’s wedding just because Harry sounded sad. But he couldn't just go to sleep now and not hear Harry's soft little "'m fine" without his brain racing to a hundred million possibilities of what fine actually meant. He raced back in record time. The sun was just rising when he knocked on Harry's door and then rang because Harry wasn't answering. Then there was some shouting of Harry's name and possibly a few words of a cursing nature. He was about to call the bloody fire brigade to come knock Harry's door down when the thing opened to reveal a very sleepy, warm-looking Harry. He was all bed-rumpled and rubbing at his eyes, yawning through saying Liam's name like it was a question about what he was doing on Harry's bloody doorstep at five in the morning.

Of course Harry was fine. A little morose and a little high, which Liam didn't know about till he pushed past Harry and saw the remnants of either a very quiet party or just Harry smoking a lot more weed than he should have on his own. It was the latter, Liam found out much later because he wound up with a very thankful, very grateful Harry wrapped around his neck in an all-encompassing hug after Harry shut the front door. 

"You came," he said, and Liam nodded, his face heating up because his sister was getting married in three and a half hours and Harry was clinging like a limpet. 

"Of course."

"You actually - _Liam_." 

He collapsed even further into Liam then, sending Liam stumbling back until his feet hit the arm of the sofa, and they went toppling down on the thing. Harry was this mess of limbs covering Liam as much as his trademark curls swept over Liam's face, making it difficult to breathe. Harry just held on tight and Liam could only pat his back as Harry clung on tighter every time Liam took a breath deep enough to start speaking. 

He never did find out what was wrong with Harry that night or why he’d really called, but he did nearly get disowned by his sister for missing her wedding. He lay there and listened to Harry slowly fall back into sleep, running his fingers through Harry's hair to help keep him there.

Not because he couldn't stop once he'd actually started. Not at all.

When Liam woke up later, it was all alone with a post-it note stuck to his chest with the word "thanks" and that was all. They never talked about it. Never even mentioned it again at all, but something had shifted within those hours of the night and subsequent morning. 

Liam tried to pretend that Harry's smiles when aimed in his direction weren't that little bit softer. Or that when Harry called for no real reason more than once a week - sometimes once a day if they weren't directly involved with each other - it was probably because he was lonely. If, when Harry sometimes brought Liam a cup of tea just the way he liked it on a shoot where Harry ran late and Liam was reduced to making excuses that he'd made so often over the years together they just rolled off his tongue, it was just common courtesy. He tried to pretend it all meant nothing. Harry was just Liam’s friend now, his friend proper. It meant nothing more. No matter what Zayn and Louis liked to deduce, like they were bloody Watson and Sherlock, over pints at their local on Friday nights.

Harry's just Liam’s client and possibly a friend. He's sitting across from Liam now, and Liam has the biggest news of Harry's entire career possibly, just waiting to be told.

If he can tear his eyes away for a moment from Harry nearly making love to the food he's sliding into his mouth.

Harry smiles and licks the last of the crumbs from his lips and Liam finds himself finally able to create speech. He does have to clear his throat after squeaking out the first part.

"So, remember how you've wanted to get on the cover of _Numero Homme_?"

Harry's eyes widen a little and he sets his shoulders back. Those gloriously wide shoulders that pull his jacket further apart and make the white shirt he's wearing cling to his chest. It's either the light or the fact that the shirt’s only a thin one even though it's cold out that allows Liam to make out the exact outline of the twin doves inked just under Harry's collarbones. 

"Well, it's not that, but it's getting closer. At least it's French," he adds when Harry slouches, a rare trait for Harry these days. Not after he was told off about it so many times in the early days. Simon had insisted on lessons on how to "stand and look relaxed" with those people who somehow made that their job. This, though, was the wind already blowing out of Harry's sails, so maybe Liam shouldn't have gone in with that as a starter.

"No, don't do that face - and sit up properly, will you?" Liam huffs, trying hard not to look into Harry's eyes because he knows how much of a puppydog stare Harry will be shooting in his direction right now. "It's not them, but it's close. It's an offshoot aimed at a younger audience, more hip and 'rock' or whatever it is they're looking for, and apparently you're that, so . . . it's big, Harry. It's the first issue and it's huge that you've been asked for this. It has backing from all the right people. Caroline's running the ship there and you know how much she loves you, so this could be the next step. Plus Cara asked for you. Won't do it without you, apparently." 

Harry smiles then, a proper smile. "Cara asked for me? Even after—"

Liam nods and swallows around what is most definitely not jealousy about the thing Harry'd had with Cara when he was nineteen and Cara was already touted to be bigger than Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell. Harry'd dropped her for reasons that still weren't clear years later, and there had been some name-calling on her part. Harry'd come out of it looking shiny after a little video of Miss Delevingne snorting coke and falling over in the street with no knickers on was leaked to the press by someone who _wasn't_ Liam. Someone who was definitely _not_ Liam, to a mate he _may_ have known working at the _Sun_. Not at all. Though he did have to buy Niall a round of pints for the next year, though that could have been about anything, really.

"Richard Branson is letting them use his island for the shoot. You fly out Friday."

Harry's smile widens and he looks genuinely pleased. "Friday. I've never been to Necker. That region, yeah, Nick and I stayed at Tortola last year. The one like in those _Pirate_ movies?" he asks, and Liam nods. He'd watched a few of those with Louis and Zayn because Louis had a thing for Johnny Depp and Zayn had a thing for Orlando Bloom. Liam loved, just _loved_ playing third wheel, watching a marathon of those films in his own house. 

"Did you say just me, Li? What are you going to be doing?" Harry's eyes narrow. Liam should have known this would come up.

Liam shrugs. "All the things I usually do when you're off someplace sunny and I'm stuck in dreary London. Paperwork and phone calls and trying to get you more work for more pay and sometimes sleeping."

"Sleep when you're dead, old bean!" Harry says, leaning over and picking up Liam's mug. He winces as he takes a sip of what is probably a stone-cold cup of coffee by now. 

"Not all of us can afford to live by that decree, Harry. I have bills to pay and - brace yourself - other clients."

Harry's answering grin is so wide that his dimples carve deep into his cheeks. Sometimes, in the safety of his own house and the comfort of his bed, Liam lets himself imagine what they'd feel like under his tongue. Whether the skin tastes the same there as it does on any other part of Harrys' body. The lyrics inked in a curve under his arm, the knobbly bits of his knees, the rough patches on his elbows, the cut of his hips . . . . 

Liam hates himself a little on those nights.

"None are half as important as me, Li. Pack your bags, babe. You're coming with and I won't hear another word about it."

Liam huffs, a tension headache prickling behind his eyes, but this is Harry. Harry's grinning at him and his _dimples_  . . . .

Of course Liam is going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been sitting in my docs unfinished for FAR too long. A prompt by **neontrains** [left so SO long ago](http://theboofanfic.livejournal.com/42479.html?thread=184559#t184559)! I'm in the process of tidying it up and adding bits here and there so for funsies, posting once a week over the next four. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter beta'd by the epic mamacitasan

It's incredibly early as Liam drags his luggage out the front door, tickets clenched in his teeth along with his passport. He isn't going to forget that. 

Again. 

The sun's just coming through the clouds, lighting the outside of his building in a less than dreary grey. He's already apologising loudly as he goes. The cabbie's pressed the horn twice like an inconsiderate twat, and Liam just knows that Mrs McCreedy will complain about him - again - once he gets back home. 

He really shouldn't have agreed to this. Going away with Harry. No, not _with_ Harry, _for_ Harry. He's only tagging along in a strictly business measure. He'll make sure Harry eats properly, gets to the shoot on time, and generally doesn’t want for anything. That way they can get the shoot over with and have a happy photographer, happy magazine, and happy Simon for bringing in more money.

When exactly did agent turn into personal assistant?

Liam can still hear Louis and Zayn teasing him about the same thing the night before at the pub. They'd tried to get him drunk, but Liam convinced Aiden behind the bar to just give him lemonade without the vodka and to double the shots in Zayn and Louis' drinks. It wasn't as if he had to push Aiden much to get him to play along. Aiden still had issues over his breakup with Louis. Louis may have said he ended it because they "weren't going in the same direction anymore," but Liam knew better - so did Aiden, really. Aiden and Liam had both seen how Louis lit up when Zayn was around. Liam had thought it wouldn't take long for Louis to sort things with Zayn once he finished with Aiden. Six months on, though, it still hasn't happened. Louis isn't ready to admit he has feelings for his flatmate, and Zayn doesn’t believe Louis would want him for more. It’s such a tangled mess. If they don’t sort it out soon, Liam will probably have to.

Liam's suitcase bumps along behind him as he scrambles down the stairs. He's got high hopes that the cheap wheels on this thing will last just one more trip. He should probably buy a new suitcase, but his mum bought him these when he went on a school trip to Germany in college and they weren't _completely_ broken, so why spend money when he didn't need to? Plus, he liked them. They had character. 

When he gets to the pavement, he ends up fighting with the handle to get it down. He hears the door open beside him but doesn't look up as he calls out his thanks through a mouthful of paper, thinking it's the driver seeing that he's having a rough time of it.

"Is the great Liam Payne actually running late for something for once?" this voice calls out, and that's when Liam stops and stands upright.

"Harry?" Liam's mouth drops open, sending his paperwork fluttering to the ground.

Harry is grinning as he clambers out of the back of the town car Liam ordered for Harry - not for himself - earlier that week. 

"Thought I'd surprise you, and really, Li? A whole town car to myself? Here I thought you had some care for the environment." He shakes his head, curls flying about everywhere, only to be swept to the side with one hand while the other grabs at Liam's bags. 

"Tell Roger to pop the boot, will you?"

He walks around the back of the car and Liam just stands there, staring, because Harry isn't supposed to be here. Harry is _supposed_ to be sleeping for another hour before the car picks him up, getting him to the airport in time to get checked in and away. Liam had arranged it. Liam always arranges it.

"Liam? The boot?" Harry's head pops back around the side of the car.

Liam blinks hard, trying remember what he's supposed to be doing. Which frankly is a bit hard because "You're supposed to be in bed!"

Harry shakes his head and laughs. "Roger, the boot, mate!"

Harry leaves Liam still standing there watching as he puts Liam's luggage away and pushes the boot back down. He picks up Liam's papers, which are still all over the ground, and finally lays a hand on Liam's shoulder.

"I always figured you to be a morning person, Liam," he says, with a squeeze that reverberates around Liam’s body and has him stiffening at the familiar touch. It's all a little too much, what with the lads teasing him the night before about going on holiday with Harry and then Harry appearing at Liam's house, looking after Liam's luggage, and . . . it's all too much.

Harry's smile falls a bit at the corners for a second but then comes back full force, dimples deep as his hand drops back down to his side.

"Come on, old man."

"I'm not that much older than you, Harry," Liam retaliates with ease, because he and Harry have had this argument before. It's safe. Easy. 

Harry shrugs, and Liam most certainly keeps his eyes above Harry's waist as he bends down to get back in the car. 

"What is it the Americans say? Daylight is wasted or something?"

"Wasting."

"You perving at my waist, Li?"

"I am not!" Liam feels his face redden as the banter he's familiar with falls into territory he tries ever so hard not to let it when it comes to conversations with Harry. Business. This is a business trip. Pure and simple.

Harry doesn't say anything else, but his answering smirk speaks louder than words. Liam busies himself with his seatbelt and tries to keep to his side of the cab after he slides in. It's a bit hard, though, what with Harry's long legs taking up a lot of space because of how wide he has them spread. And no. Liam drags his eyes forward because staring at Harry's legs wrapped in tight, dark denim is _not_ allowed. Not at all.

"It's okay, Li. I checked out your arse when you were shutting your front door."

An unbecoming squawk emerges from Liam's throat, and Harry laughs in that out of place loud way he always does. Harry tells Roger to get a wriggle on, and Liam stares out the window, resigned to the fact that this is definitely going to be the longest business trip he's ever been on.

\- - - -

 

Liam has been to a lot of locations around the world as part of his job, but none like Necker Island. Well, maybe none like Necker Island while traipsing around after Harry Styles.

He's been on shoots with Harry before - magazine things and the odd runway gig early in Harry's career - but usually he's able to stick with staying behind the scenes. There's always a phone call to take, or paperwork to sign, or emails to check, or _anything_ so he won't have time to watch. It isn't part of his job to stare at Harry - overlook proofs and things, yeah, but to avidly stare and wipe at his own drool? Not so much. 

Harry _is_ good at his job. The standing and the smiling. The pouting and stretching out his long limbs to show off his torso to perfection. Those he's got down to an art. He's fantastic at tilting his head softly to one side so his curls hang loose and in perfect ringlets that beg to be tugged on. He can slip his tongue slowly over his lips to create the perfect shine, emphasising their fullness under whatever version of "daylight" the technician produces. 

Then there's Harry's tattoos. He's good at flexing the muscles in his arms so the black ink that litters his left bicep stands out in relief. A lot of Harry's ink is, well . . . let's just say the reasons around his frankly odd collection of bits and bobs usually comes down to "I felt like it" and not much more. 

Liam's fond of a few of the pieces, but the birds are his favourite so far. They're perfectly placed. The wingtips ride just under the edges of Harry's collarbones, framing his chest in a way that makes Liam's fingers twitch to trace their curves. He likes how one's a bit bigger than the other, too. Makes them individual. Unique, like Harry is.

Then there's the butterfly or moth - whatever it is - on Harry's stomach. Liam has trouble keeping his eyes focused nowadays, purely because there is so _much_ to look at. There was a little backlash about this piece in particular, mostly because of how big it is and the placement. Simon might have had a "quiet word" with Liam about controlling his client unless he wanted him to feature in nothing more than cheap rags for the rest of his life. It wasn't like Liam could do much, though. Harry had always done what he wanted with his body and he hasn't failed to get contracts yet. 

Harry's always had an amazing body. He might work out the very least amount possible to maintain it, but it's gorgeous all the same. Which could be why Liam always finds excuses not to be around when Harry does the underwear and swimsuit shoots that have become his staple of late. It isn't that Liam can't handle being there - because he can. It's more of the problem that a scantily-clad Harry Styles causes. Liam hates himself a little more each time it happens. It isn't like him to be so focused on the outer package of someone, and that's the _real_ problem with Harry. 

Liam knows what lies behind Harry's money-making smile and soft green eyes.

After working together for four years, Liam _knows_ Harry. Knows about all the charitable things he does that no paps ever pay attention to (or know about, probably). He knows Harry's stupid laugh when things that aren't that funny amuse him more than anyone else around. He knows from how deep Harry's dimples are just how tired he is or how he doesn't want to be involved with what's going on around him, but is too polite to make an exit from. He knows Harry's early morning voice from having to call and wake him all the time. It's the same tone Harry uses when checking in some nights when he's off in a country with a name Liam would probably mispronounce, and Harry would laugh. Liam has to remind himself on these nights that Harry isn't calling just to hear the sound of Liam's voice. He's just a sound from home that Harry needs to hear. 

Being here, though, with Harry and the beach and the sun, and Harry running around in swimming trunks or tiny pants, makes it harder and harder to keep "professionalism" in mind. It also doesn't help that Harry is around him _all the time_.

He's at breakfast with Liam in the morning. Then he'll drag Liam off to lunch with the rest of the crew, and then dinner either on their own or with Cara and a few of the other model types. Liam keeps trying to find reasons for why he can't be at a particular location for a shoot, but Harry finds a way so Liam's excuses are moot. If there isn't room in the buggy, Harry makes them get one on their own together. Liam has to "check in with the office"? He'll hide Liam's phone. The other models don't have their agents here. When Liam mentions it to Harry after the first night, feeling a little awkward, Harry just shrugs and says they obviously don't give the personal touch like his agent does. 

It doesn't help. 

Harry gets worse as the days go on, leading up to today. Today he goes so far as to get final approval on clothing and looks at Liam before he'll even step foot in front of a camera. It's awful.

_"Have they sprayed enough water on to make me look like I've come out of the ocean, Li?"_

_"Do you think my arse looks all right in these pants?"_

The latter is really awkward because Liam has to get right in Harry's space, and Harry's whispered "thanks" is loud enough for Liam's ears. It feels intimate when it shouldn't, not with the sheer number of people hovering around. Liam isn't even supposed to be one of them.

He escapes as fast as possible, without being noticeable, he hopes. He holds his phone to his ear like he has to take a call - the director had made them all put their phones on silent during the shoot - so it's probable that it's vibrating in his hand. His ear is burning from where Harry's breath played over it. Every time he blinks he sees different parts of Harry lying on that bed. 

A slight breeze shifts the palm fronds and plays with the dark curls on Harry's crown. The stark white blankets on the daybed that make Harry's skin glow, his chest all golden from the rays of sun and the sheen of sweat there from the heat of the day. The bright bottle-green of his eyes, framed by lashes darkened by product. How they slow and sweep across his cheeks as the photographer has him fake sleep in nothing but a tight pair of black pants. Harry hasn't shaved like he normally does, so from his bellybutton down is this fine trail of dark hair that disappears under the elastic waistband. It's taunted Liam for the past half hour, more so when he had to scratch at the side of Harry's nose. Harry called him in and Liam leaned closer, turning his head when Harry spoke softly against his ear. He could only look down, down, down the long line of Harry's body, completely unhindered apart from those bloody black pants.

No wonder he's now racing off back to his room, which - thankfully - is only a short distance considering they were shooting down by the pool. The cabin he's been staying in isn't far, but Liam feels the distance with every step. He'll be fine when he gets far enough away. He's always better with Harry at some distance, and in the past he's avoided what he _most_ wants to do right now with cold showers. He's been in this predicament before, left hard and wanting more than he should, and he's taken care of it. Well . . . not _taken care of it_ in public, by any means, he does have some sense of decency. Thoughts of his grandmother and his sweaty old geography teacher at college usually keep the wanting to do something with his hard-on at bay.

When he's finally in the safety of his private room he shuts the door and leans heavily against it. He closes his eyes and tries to replace all the thoughts of a half-naked Harry with all his usual means of forgetting what Harry looks like or the thought of what Harry on his knees staring up at Liam through those dark lashes would look like. Or how seeing Harry as naked as he was today - or more so - lying on the bed under Liam would make him feel. Or how salty-sweet Harry's skin would taste if Liam licked his way down from inked mark to inked mark until he took Harry's cock in his mouth and . . . .

Fuck it. He's been so damn good the whole time he's been here - not touching himself or even considering it - but he just can't wait a moment longer. He doesn't bother moving, doesn't bother even shoving his trousers down, just opens his fly and gets his hand inside his pants. Liam lets out a pleased hiss when he gets his hand around his cock. He's half hard already and the first solid stroke has his knees all wobbly. He drops his phone to the ground with a clatter and slides his now-free hand up under his shirt to thumb over his nipple. He bites his lip to stay quiet as he fights to keep a blurred image of someone on their knees with their lips on the tip of his cock from becoming anyone he knows - some _one_ in particular - by any means.

It feels good, so much better than _good_ , to touch himself like this. He doesn't bother keeping his strokes light or dragging it out. There'll be time enough for that when he gets back home in the privacy of his own little flat and isn’t here in the tropics where anyone could pop by at any time. He knows his time is limited - the photographer was pretty much done when Liam was there - and he knows that as soon as Harry is finished he'll be looking for Liam. He knows he has to make this quick, but as he palms himself in a way he knows will get him off fast he struggles to keep the image of Harry and not a faceless person with great lips out of his mind. 

As he squeezes a little tighter on the upstroke, a blurt of precome slips between his fingers, easing the way down. He has to bite his lip to keep from groaning too loud; he's always been noisy in bed and the door here isn't that thick, the windows are mostly open and who knows who's around. He slides his thumb against the thick vein on the underside, twists his palm over the head, and speeds up his strokes. The image in his mind of someone swallowing him down, teasing flicks of a tongue at the tip, is slowly taking shape. The fuzz of hair turns into dark curls, the pink lips twist into a familiar rosy bow that he'd know anywhere. Christ, he's so close, so close and he can't, he just can't stop wishing it was Harry here instead. Harry's mouth he was fucking into. Harry grinning before swallowing him down again and again. Harry's hand stroking him while his tongue works over the head. Harry's face beneath his fingertips as Liam presses his hand to Harry’s cheek, feels his prick being enveloped by the soft warmth of Harry's mouth, Harry's . . . .

Harry. Harry here and Harry wanting it as much as Liam does.

He wants it so much he can almost hear Harry's voice. Hear Harry whispering for him to come, telling Liam how much he wants it. How much he wants to make Liam lose control. 

"Liam!"

Liam's head hits the back of the door with a thunk, his hand a blur inside his pants as he imagines Harry's voice. He's so close he can feel his arousal tugging at the base of his spine, sparks of it sizzling through his veins, and it won't take much to get him there. He can picture Harry's eyes, glazed and wide, wide open looking up at him. He can see Harry's lips, red and raw, leaving soft wet kisses on the crown of his cock as he whispers for Liam to "Come on my face, I want to feel it. Make me yours."

"Liam!" 

Oh shit, that really _is_ Harry, and he sounds like he's nearly at the door. The thought of being caught and Harry's voice combined have Liam fucking into his fist in earnest. His hips snap forward and the little side table by the door is rocking, the glass bowl filled with shells tipping precariously from side to side. His breath is coming in sharp huffs from his bitten lips and fuck, _fuck!_ It's all he can do to bite down hard one last time as he comes, come covering his fist, sliding down his fingers. 

"Liam, are you in there?"

He slips his hand out quickly and gets his fly done up just in the nick of time, because the second he's done there's a knock at the door right about where his head is. Harry calls his name again and Liam turns on unsteady feet, holding his still-sticky hand behind his back as he opens the door. He's fairly certain Harry will read what he's been doing all over his face, but if he _doesn't_ open the door Harry will probably climb in through a window to find him.

"Hey, mate, I was just . . . you all right, Li? Did you catch a bit of sun? Your face is all red," Harry says, genuine concern etched across his brow as his original grin drops downward.

Liam's not quite caught his breath yet and he stutters on an answer as Harry's hand presses to his cheek. 

"Feel a bit warm, too, mate. Hope you're not coming down with something on our last few days here." Harry frowns as his hand slides down Liam's cheek, cupping softly at his jaw. "Was going to see if you wanted to join me for a swim, but I think you'd be best having a lie-down." 

Liam nods, because he _does_ feel like he'd rather be horizontal right now. What with his hand behind him still filled with his release and the object of his affections standing inches away. Only Liam's life could be this bloody hard.

"Go on, then, you have a nice kip and I'll come after you when we get back. Can't have my Liam getting sick on the job, now, can I!" He leans in and presses his lips quickly to Liam's cheek before turning to walk down the path.

Liam watches until Harry disappears from view and then shuts the door behind himself before his knees finally give out, and he slips to the floor. It's only after he's put his hand to his brow to feel for himself whether he's hot or not that he remembers just which hand he’s using. 

He'll definitely be needing a shower now, and that lie-down.

\- - - -

If he blushes a little more when he sees Harry later that night over dinner, it's nothing he can't handle by drinking a little more than he should. He can blame the flush on his cheeks on the good bottle of red he shares with the others at the table. He can blame how he begs off early on time zones and needing to get in touch with the office in the morning. It's not that he's unable to keep looking at Harry across the way without flashes of what he was doing in the cabin before flitting back through his mind. It was a one-time thing. That's all. One slip-up in four years of being nothing but "a bloody saint" in Louis and Zayn's words. A one-time "I was on a working holiday, it happened" _thing_ that he's sure he won't fall for again.

It's only two days until they fly home.

Two days. Surely he can cope with that.

\- - - -

It's their last day. Liam's packed and he hopes Harry is, too. Looking after Harry's luggage is not a part of this deal, even though a lot _is_ that shouldn't be anyway. 

They're leaving Richard's island on a bloody helicopter bound for St Thomas after breakfast, because the photographer wants a few different beach shots. Liam can't imagine how that's possible, what with how nearly every day has been basically nothing but. When Liam says he's fine to stay and fly out at his original time, Harry and Cara virtually drag him out to the helipad.

Liam's never been in a helicopter before, so if he grabs at Harry's hand, squeezing tight when they first take off and bank to one side, it's purely a situational reaction. Why Harry doesn't let go, either, until they land is something Liam doesn't let himself think about.

They have rooms booked at one of the nicer hotels on the island and Liam is frankly refreshed to know his is on a different floor and different side from Harry's. This working holiday - or however Harry had put it in the beginning - is blurring the line between his roles as friend and agent a little too much. Liam's found himself thinking over each word Harry says when they're alone, thinking that each touch seems to linger more than normal. Holding hands on the helicopter and out into the airport is another thing entirely. He'd not even realised they were still doing it until they had to break apart at customs. Liam is slowly losing his mind and he really shouldn't have come out with Harry at all. 

He knows he should have stayed at home. He should have worked harder to deny Harry and his request/demand that Liam join him. This whole trip has been a balance of being there for Harry and wanting to be more, and having to deny himself that (apart from that one time). It's been awful and great and he just can't wait for it to be over so he can get some _space_. 

\- - - -

They finish the day with the shoot on this pristine near-private beach at sunset. The warm colours of approaching twilight illumine Harry like nothing Liam's seen before. Maybe it's how close they've become during this week or how romantic the setting is, but it makes Liam's heart tug in his chest. Harry's right there and he's all these things Liam can't allow himself to want, and for a minute he hates that fact. 

Still, he stays and he watches through the safety of his aviators and schools his face into what he hopes is a mix of interested and a little bored. It's probably not a great sell, but Harry nicked his phone and iPad when they reached the hotel so he has nothing else to busy himself with.

When Harry walks up to him at the end of the shoot, his long legs lumbering slightly unsteadily over the soft sand, Liam can't catch his breath. There's this tiny lift to Harry's lips in one corner making his dimples these hinted shadows on his cheeks, his green eyes nearly sparkling with something warm as he gets closer to Liam. The last rays of sun play at the highlights of his curls from being out in the elements for the past week, his bare skin looks sinfully golden, and _fuck_. It's all Liam can do not to reach out and pull Harry in to kiss the slow, shy smile from his lips. 

He leaves rather impressive marks from his fingernails in his palms instead, as Harry wraps his arms over Liam's shoulders and leans in close to whisper in his ear.

"Thanks for coming, Li. It really means a lot that you were here."

Liam nods and mutters something he hopes is positive, because Harry is close and he smells like the coconut oil he had Liam rub over his back earlier. He's like surf and sun and . . . so fucking hot.

It's probably a combination of all of these and more that has Liam making his next big mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! See ya next week :D
> 
> [tumblr](http://www.slightlytotheleft.tumblr.com) // [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/badjujuboo)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this got long. as in the lenght of the first two chapters combined. oops.
> 
> porn makes me wordy. idek
> 
> chapter beta'd by mamacitasan

When they get back to the hotel, all Liam's hopes of making it an early night before their plane leaves the next day fade from view. 

The shoot director - Ben, as he asks them all to call him now they're nearly done - has a friend who runs a club not too far from the hotel. It's got a live band and he can get them cheap drinks purely from the promo of having them there. He might even take a few shots, do that whole "holiday adventure feel," so they can claim it on perks for the magazine. Ben mentions something about the first round being on him, and they're all welcome to join. This means Harry will want to go, and of course Liam will have to, too. Liam sees Harry's wide smile and his face all lit up and knows he'll get dragged along anyway, so he speaks up first and says he'll be there. It's more than unusual for Liam to go out with Harry - singly or in a group - which explains Harry's open-eyed surprise and the way he tackles Liam to the floor of the hotel’s reception seconds later. 

Harry's this lump above him and Liam feels hotter than normal. Even though there's not much weight to Harry, there always seems to be _more_ of him, purely from the length of his limbs alone. He's like a bloody octopus, wrapped all around Liam, who could easily push him off but doesn't because obviously he's a glutton for punishment. This may be the only way he has Harry on top of him ever, so he lets it go. 

He may regret it when Harry leans up, his hands planted on either side of Liam on the floor, his curls in a halo around his face with a huge smile, and asks Liam if he's sure. Liam nods and is about to answer, but all his words disappear completely as Harry leans in and kisses him full on the lips with a loud, wet smack. Then he's up and running to the elevators with a whoop, clicking his heels together like he's in some sort of 1940s musical, before Liam can even process what Harry's done. 

Liam lies there for a bit, fingertips brushing softly over his lips before he hears giggles to one side and realises where he is and that it's highly inappropriate. He gets off the floor quickly, his cheeks on fire, and heads to the elevator. Thank goodness there's time for a lie-down before they head out later. Liam tends to need those a lot lately.

\- - - -

Liam gets dressed close to nine when they all agreed to meet up. He's got his last button-down on; the light blue material is the kind that hides wrinkles well. Apart from it missing a button so he has to have the top four undone, showing off a lot more chest hair than normal, he feels good in it. It's too hot for jeans so he grabs his dark denim cut-offs and his mostly white trainers and hopes it's enough. It's not that he has to look good for anyone in particular, it's just that he's going out with a group of models so he wants to at least try. This is what he tells himself when he takes a photo and texts it to Louis, knowing he'll be up because he rarely sleeps and that he'll be honest. If not brutally so. He gets a return thumbs-up and a pointing finger at the peach, which he doesn't quite understand, but it's probably rude - Louis’ texts often are - so he doesn't bother writing back.

He heads down the corridor to the elevator, shoving his wallet in his pocket along with his room key. He tells himself he's leaving his phone in the room so Harry doesn't just nick it when they catch up. It's a good excuse to go back early if he needs it, anyhow. He has plans to just have a few drinks. Then he'll be safe to disappear for the rest of the night once Harry's become enamoured with some pretty thing or a conversation he can sink his teeth into. Harry loves people and their life stories - even more so when he's had a few - so Liam is fairly certain this is his best plan yet. It'll keep Harry happy and at a distance so Liam can finally have a moment on his own to sort out his head.

Of course, this is where it mostly goes wrong.

\- - - -

He really shouldn't have let Harry drag him onto the tiny dance floor. He seriously questions his own ability to think on any sort of conscious level when Harry presses his body close and the jumping around becomes more grinding against one another. 

Now, though, he's stuck to Harry and Harry is grinning, and his green eyes flash with the reds and blues of whatever the lighting is doing around them. Harry has his arms over Liam's shoulders and a thigh between Liam's legs, and Liam is somehow holding onto Harry's hips as they move to the heavy bass of the music around them. He's been here a lot longer than he planned. There were shots to start, then some beer, more shots, and more beer. Liam remembers fruity cocktails, too, that Harry shoved in his hand. After a while the band finishes, and some DJ sets up. Liam can't really recall when Harry ended up pulling him onto the floor, but then again, at the moment Liam can't really remember much past the last five minutes. He's like that fish in Nemo . . . Nory? Nancy? Dancer? He'll remember later, he's sure.

"You’re _so_ wasted," Harry shouts into Liam’s ear. Liam laughs, nodding, and gets a better grip on Harry's hips, slippery with sweat under his touch. There's this burning low in Liam's gut that has little to do with how much he's drunk. 

"And you're very hot," Liam says a bit later, when Harry's stopped staring at him with those intense green eyes and his fingertips are toying with damp curls at the nape of Liam's neck. 

Liam feels his own face heat even more as Harry's brow rises, and he realises how what he said can be taken. Even if it is the truth. 

"No," he says with a shake of his head, "like your skin, your body's really hot." 

Harry laughs again, his head tipping back this time. There's this drop of perspiration sliding over the sharp cut of his Adam's apple and Liam has to bite his lip hard to not just lean in and lick it and the trail it's left behind, then up along Harry's jaw and into his hairline. He gives up resisting: Harry's just as drunk as he is, so hopefully he'll forget this in the morning. Harry tastes salty and bitter, aftershave or cologne or something mixed with his skin, and Liam should stop once he gets to Harry's ear. He should, but his teeth somehow find themselves tugging on the lobe and, well . . . he's already in deep, why not another two or three feet more?

He feels Harry gasp, feels a vibration under his lips as he traces his way back down Harry's neck to nip at a cord of muscle that stands in relief with the way Harry's neck is tilted back. Liam smiles as Harry's head drops back down, his eyes closed, mouth open wide, and his breath coming in sharp pants from what Liam can see down Harry's nearly bare chest. They continue dancing and it's as if nothing has changed between them.

Except that Liam can still taste Harry on his tongue when he licks at his lips.

Harry doesn't say anything as the music slows down a notch. This dirty pulse that has Liam pulling Harry close as Harry's head drops onto Liam's shoulder. He tilts his face to the side and Liam can feel Harry’s breath play in cool puffs across his somewhat heated skin. They're not really doing anything that could be called dancing right now. Harry is shifting his hips against Liam's, his fingers tangled in Liam's hair. Liam's got his hands on Harry's waist, one thumb brushing over his hipbone while the fingertips of his other hand keep flirting just under the waistband of Harry's jeans. Liam still can't believe he's wearing those same bloody skinny jeans he always does, especially in a place as humid as this. The temperature is rising purely from the combined body heat of everyone in the room. 

Liam doesn't pull back, though. He should. He should have had the one dance Harry asked him for, had a laugh and then made excuses to go back to his room and wank off until he was too tired or his dick was too sore to do anything more but fall asleep. He should do anything - anything - but follow Harry's moves and let his fingers roam under Harry's light shirt. Should stop his fingertips caressing the warmth that is Harry's skin. Liam's lost all sense of what's going on outside of him and Harry and how Harry feels Liam’s all around him. It's just his erratic heartbeat and Harry's breath stuttering at his ear and nothing else. 

"Liam."

Liam leans in to where Harry's whispered his name - the music's too loud for it, but Liam swears he can feel it. The word are like a caress to his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

He feels Harry's lips press to the hinge of his jaw, down over where the thump of blood working its way through his veins presses itself to the surface of his skin. Harry lingers there, and fuck, Liam wants more. He wants Harry's teeth. He wants Harry to bite and suck and nip and take his fill because, yeah, Liam's drunk but so is Harry.

It's stupid, and he's being reckless, and he'll probably hate himself and Harry will regret it later but . . . it's all been leading up to this, hasn’t it? Harry insisting on Liam coming and Harry just looking at Liam, while they've been here, with nothing short of intent. Harry spending all this time with Liam. 

Harry's this itch just underneath Liam's skin and yeah, maybe he can have this. Maybe Liam can just have Harry on their last night here. Maybe he can consider the consequences in the cold light of morning.

But that's hours away and Harry's here.

"God, Liam. I just . . . can I?" Harry's at his ear again and a hand at Liam's hip draws him in. Liam bites down on a moan because yeah, that's definitely Harry's cock hard and against Liam and— 

"Yeah, fuck. Yeah." 

Harry moans in something like relief. His hand tugs hard at Liam's hip, his teeth nip at the line of Liam's jaw. His head drops back to Liam's shoulder as Liam keeps them moving. Liam lets his hand roam under Harry's shirt, up and over the knobs of Harry's spine. Liam shifts his thigh and then Harry moves in a way that creates this delicious drag over Liam's cock and they really shouldn't be doing this where they are. Not here where anyone can see.

"Not here, Haz." Liam turns and his face is nearly lost in Harry's matted curls, but hopefully Harry can hear. 

Harry nods a little, and when he lifts his head his eyes are full of want. Liam has no idea what he's done to deserve this. Having Harry look at him like this and touch him the way he is right now. It seems almost impossible that Harry would think of Liam in any other way than a mate - or at the very worst, his semi-boss, of all things - yet here they are. 

Harry's eyes are hooded. His full lashes drift lazily open and closed as he licks at his bottom lip and Liam . . . . 

Later, he can blame the drinks, the heat, and the humidity. In reality, it's because he wants to. He wants to kiss Harry, and when he does?

Well, it's better than anything he ever imagined, really.

Harry tastes like the varieties of booze they’ve been drinking since they arrived. He's sweet, like the truly amazing mix of tropical cocktails that Liam kept trying to push away but Harry insisted on. It's no wonder Liam's head is spinning when Harry slips his tongue past Liam's lips and he's gone. 

It's all Liam can do to actually concentrate on keeping them both standing. His mind is completely set on how soft Harry’s lips feel. How Harry's ever so polite with the amount of tongue he allows in Liam’s mouth. Harry’s hands keep clutching at every part of Liam he can hold onto as if to ensure that he doesn't disappear. Liam should. He should stop with this kiss. A kiss can be explained away as drunken fumbling. Everyone snogs their mates. Liam's snogged Louis a lot - mostly because of boredom and in between Louis' boyfriends - but still, a snog’s a snog. Even if Liam's licked Harry, that can still be classed as a snog. Probably. He'll have to ask Louis in the morning.

He should stop now that their touches have become heated. Harry's got a good grip on Liam's arse, his large hand sliding right under Liam's pants and groping bare skin. He's pulling Liam in tight and his fingertips keep slipping down between Liam's arse cheeks and it's _so fucking hot_. Liam's just holding Harry close and letting Harry lead their kiss by the way he's nearly tugging at Liam's hair by the fistful. 

It's too late now, though. Much too late, what with Harry’s teeth pulling at Liam’s bottom lip and then at his jaw once more. “My room is closer.”

Liam nods and retracts his hand from where it's slipped under Harry’s shirt to map the movement of muscles over Harry’s back. He crooks his finger in Harry’s belt loop. “Let’s go.”

Harry places a quick kiss on Liam’s lips once more before turning and waving off the few people who were part of their party before. The two of them make their way through the crowd and onto the street, and the air's much cooler there. There's almost no one out at whatever time in the early morning this is, so there's no real excuse for Liam to grab Harry's hand and hold it tight. There's no need to keep Harry close, not when it's basically them on their own as they make their way back to the hotel. 

It does, however, help that they so often pull off to lean against a wall just to kiss and grope each other. It seems like every five steps or so either Harry or Liam is dragging them into an alcove or stopping in the middle of the street just to hold each other close. It takes longer than it did at the beginning of the night to make the return trip to the hotel. They're a giggling, stumbling mess as they make their way inside, and it's only because of a little old lady who's riding the elevator with them that they don't do anything too indecent on the way up to Harry's floor. When they get out and are finally, blessedly alone, Liam’s back is against the wall before he's even realised Harry’s turned around. Harry’s hands are braced over Liam’s shoulders - nearly locking him in - as he bends in close and kisses Liam hard. Liam’s hands go straight to Harry’s hips, pulling him in and spreading his legs so Harry can fit between them like he had on the dance floor. 

“Room, Harry,” Liam stutters when Harry’s lips leave his and are now a hot press at his neck. 

Harry nods, his eyes glazed over and dark. The green's pushed almost completely out of sight, the pupils are so blown out, and he looks utterly debauched. He licks once over his red lips, all plush and swollen from where Liam may have inadvertently pulled on the puffy flesh between his teeth a few times. Liam breathes in shakily as Harry continues to stare, his head shifting up and down like a puppet being pulled by its string. After one deep breath his hands slide down Liam’s shoulders, his fingers twining with Liam’s, curls flicking everywhere as he shake his head as if to clear it.

“It’s just down here,” Harry says, his voice deep and husky. 

Liam wonders what it will sound like after sucking his cock, or after Liam's sucked Harry’s. What will Harry sound like after Liam's got him making even better noises than what kissing and grinding alone have produced? Liam wants them all.

He wants the high-pitched whines and the grunts and the stuttered breaths. He wants to learn what it takes to make Harry _really_ moan. He wants so many things, and maybe tonight - just for tonight - he can allow himself to have them. Harry's up for it and maybe Harry only wants one night, too. It's highly unlikely he'll want more, what with him being so in demand by male and female admirers both and Liam, well, Liam's not like that. He's not runway material or boyfriend material really. He basically lives and breathes his work, and what Harry does is hardly "work" at all. 

Liam can forget for tonight that he's also virtually Harry's boss, and he can push out of mind what would happen if Simon found out. Simon has a strict policy of no fraternisation between agent and client. That’s something else that's always held Liam back from doing anything with Harry, but tonight . . . tonight is different. He can push out of mind that he won't have a job if this gets back to Simon, because Harry's getting the door open and dragging Liam inside. 

He can have this. Have this moment with Harry because he wants to - and Harry obviously wants to - and he can forget. He can forget being responsible and being the more adult and clear thinker of the two of them, for now. 

It's easy, with Harry walking toward the bed, shucking his jeans and tugging his shirt off over his head. It's easy, as Harry flips on the bedside lamp, turning back to Liam in nothing but his tight black pants and a hard-on that could be seen from space. Liam's breath catches in his throat as Harry steps close. Harry's teeth are sunk into his bottom lip, a smirk flickering there and in the hint of a dimple to one side. A soft moan slips from Liam's lips as Harry reaches out and slides each button from its hole on Liam's shirt so slowly that Liam can hear each of their breaths in between.

Harry's large, warm hands slide up over Liam's chest, pushing the material from Liam's shoulders. Liam chokes on air as Harry slowly leans in, mouthing over one nipple and then the other as his hands slip slowly over Liam's sides. He's so pretty, so utterly gorgeous with his deep brown curls and his golden skin nearly glowing in the warm lamplight. He's more than Liam ever thought he could be, and Liam feels himself getting lost in the moment and he can't. He has to pay attention to _everything_ , because this will be the first and last time he does this.

Harry's fingers meet Liam's fly next. The sound of every tooth of his zip coming undone is loud in the quiet room. Harry's eyes don't leave Liam's, and even if Liam wanted to look away he couldn't. It's a struggle to remember to _breathe_ as Harry's gaze bores into his. It's as if he's undoing all the secret things Liam's kept hidden from Harry, and mostly from himself. He can't deny any longer how much he wants this with Harry, not tonight.

Not with Harry dropping slowly to his knees as his fingertips slip slowly over Liam's skin, just under the elastic waistband of his pants. Liam's whole body shakes as Harry's touch grazes his hipbones, fingers curling quick over the hem to drag it down Liam's legs. Liam's dick slaps hard and sticky against his stomach. Harry really _does_ groan then, all deep and guttural. He ducks in with quick lips hot on the crown before his tongue flicks out, swirling around the tip where precome's burbling up, sticky and wet. Liam chokes on a sound that's probably meant to be Harry’s name, but he doesn't get a chance to rectify it. Not when one of Harry’s hands is on Liam’s hip to hold him in place and the other is sliding up and over Liam’s thigh as the tip of Liam’s dick is engulfed in the wet heat of Harry’s mouth. 

Harry keeps staring up at Liam, his eyes big and lips thinned out until there's barely a pink line stretched around Liam’s prick. Harry takes Liam in and in, until Liam can feel the flutter of muscle at the back of Harry’s throat. He lets out a long curse when Harry just stays there, his big green eyes staring up at Liam through inky black lashes, and Liam has to get a hand on Harry's face. Cup his jaw and run his thumb softly over Harry's cheek. Liam's chest _aches_ for what he can't have, what he sees in front of him now. Harry’s name is a raspy breath when he finally draws Liam’s prick back out. His tongue darts out to swipe over the slit. He's fisting Liam's prick, working the head with his mouth while his other hand is clasped tight on Liam's hip. His thumb's pressed so hard into the soft flesh beneath the bone that there’s bound to be purple marks there in the morning. 

Liam’s skin feels too tight and his body too loose all at the same time. It's sort of mind-blowing seeing Harry like this. Watching Harry between his legs, feeling Harry’s lips on his skin and seeing the way Harry looks up at him like he wants to consume Liam whole. Harry's bobbing up and down, sucking so hard that his cheekbones are in sharp relief in the warm lighting they have in the room. Liam can only whimper Harry’s name and chew on the inside of his lip before breathing out raggedly and repeating the whole thing. It's almost too much _looking_ down at Harry, but feeling it, too? Liam is shaking with how good it all feels. His fingertips grasp at dark curls, damp with sweat. 

His hold tightens and a high pitched whine leaves his throat when Harry does this _thing_ on the underside of Liam’s dick. There's an obscenely wet sound when Harry takes his mouth from Liam’s prick, and a long line of saliva and precome draw out until it snaps and flicks back against Harry’s chin and neck, where Liam can see it shining in the light.

“I like that,” Harry mutters, and _yes_ , that's the sound Liam's been hoping for, all husky and harsh and fucked out. Liam moans, his fingertips grasping harshly in Harry’s curls. “Yeah, yeah, just like that, Li."

Harry’s tongue slides over his lips and he goes down on Liam again. Liam’s eyes flutter closed. He can't watch anymore without coming. He isn't entirely sure whether he wants to do that in the warmth of Harry’s mouth or inside of Harry. Or maybe Harry will want to fuck him. Liam hasn't done that . . . well, in a very long time. 

One of Harry’s hands slips around to the curve of Liam’s arse. His fingertips slide between Liam’s cheeks and graze over his hole and - yeah. Yeah, Liam won't mind if Harry wants to do that. Or what they're doing now. Liam's happy with anything, really, because so far everything feels so, _so_ good. Harry fucking him, though? Liam wants that now he’s got the thought in his mind. Harry’s long fingers spreading him wide, stretching him so good. Harry’s cock fucking him open and filling him up and . . . .

Harry smiles and his dimples look deep and dark in the low light. “Bed,” he says, holding Liam’s hip tight as he stands. Liam’s hands slide over Harry’s heated skin, his neck and shoulders. Harry cups Liam’s jaw and kisses him soft and sweet, in complete deference to how hot and heavy everything was seconds before. 

Liam walks forward, guiding Harry back toward the bed. He turns at the last second and crawls up toward the soft cushioned headboard. He gets comfortable on the covers and looks up to find Harry still standing at the foot of the bed.

Harry's eyes are bright and the ink that covers his body stands out in relief from the sheen of sweat covering Harry’s skin. Liam's mouth waters just looking at him. This fiery need burns low in his gut to explore each and every single part of Harry’s skin. To taste the salt from the inside of his elbow, the back of his knee. To feel the bones that make up his hands and wrists and knobbly knees. To press his thumb into the arch of Harry’s stupidly long feet, the curve of his hips and dip of his collarbones. 

Harry won't mind. Liam will make sure of it.

He's just about to reach up and drag Harry onto the bed and start on the list of things he wants to do when Harry’s next words stop him still.

“Wait, wait . . . do you even know how gorgeous you are, Liam? Give me a moment, please. I just need to look at you.”

The flush on Liam's cheeks from before rushes back, down his neck and chest this time. His head drops down as he bites at his lip and his fingertips scrunch the coverlet up because this is _Harry_ telling him he's gorgeous, of all things. Harry. Harry the model who people pay to pout, and Liam is just . . . well, he's just normal. Average, really.

"Don't do that," Harry says, his voice much closer than before. He's knee-walking up the bed and throws one leg over Liam's body so he's straddling Liam's waist. He reaches out with one hand, his fingertips soft on Liam's chin, and tilts Liam’s face up. Liam closes his eyes quickly. It's uncomfortable looking at Harry like this, his blood still buzzing with a heady mix of want and alcohol and just being close to Harry. Everything is heightened by Harry's proximity and the words that are leaving his lips. He sounds so sure - so in awe, perhaps - and Liam can't begin to understand that. 

"Li. Liam."

Liam opens his eyes at the order from Harry that is unspoken but felt all the same. He's caught in Harry's stare immediately. His dark eyes with the barest ring of green are boring into Liam's, and Liam thinks maybe he can see what Harry is feeling. Maybe he can see how much Harry wants him - now, maybe more than now - but _for_ now, it's enough.

"Don't do that," Harry says again. "Don't hide from me. You don't have to hide from me." 

Liam feels the sincerity of Harry's words right in his chest, this ache at how wanted Harry makes him feel. He won't close his eyes again, he won't hide from this, not when he should be committing every detail to memory. 

"Okay," he says with a small nod, and Harry grins back at him.

"Good," Harry says, and then he's kissing Liam, nearly biting at Liam's lips in his intensity. Liam feels the pillow at the side of his head shift. Harry releases this huff against Liam's lips, a frustrated sound, and Liam pulls back and turns his head to the side.

"Haz?" 

Harry doesn't answer, but he's frowning a little when Liam gets a proper look at him. It doesn’t do much to make Liam feel confident about what they're doing. But that all changes with Harry's shout. 

"Found it!" he says, removing his hand from under Liam's head and holding up a well-used tube of lube. 

Liam's brows raise. "What, you just _happened_ to have that squirreled away under your pillow?"

Harry shrugs his shoulders as best he can while still leaning on one hand at Liam's side. "Might have had a wank this afternoon."

Liam laughs as the tips of Harry's ears visibly redden. "Shut up! Not that you're one to talk. What exactly were you doing in your cabin the other afternoon, hmm?" 

Liam blinks and hopes he's giving off an innocent vibe, but Harry either doesn't care or isn't bothered because he leans back in and kisses Liam once more. They slip easily back into saying nothing at all, but meaning much more, as one of Harry's hands slides down Liam's neck. The broad flat of his palm sears Liam's skin as it skips over his chest and lights over the definition on his stomach and _fuck_ , with no hesitation at all, Harry's hand wraps around Liam's cock. Liam's hips punch up into the space between them; the touch after moments of nothing sends his heart racing. 

Harry's lips trace a heated path down Liam's neck, his teeth tugging at Liam's nipples one at a time before his tongue sweeps over Liam's belly button. Liam's legs shift wider as Harry fits himself between them, sliding down low on the bed as his hands press behind Liams thighs, pushing them up. Liam doesn't even realise what Harry's going to do until he's shouting Harry's name with the first flick of Harry's tongue against his hole. His hands fist tightly into the duvet and Harry wastes no time getting Liam wet. Liam's legs are nearly shaking as Harry's hand slides down close to where the tip of his tongue is pressing in relentlessly. Christ, it's overwhelming, Harry licking him out, his thumb rubbing at the sensitive nerve endings at the rim. Liam's got his eyes squeezed shut as Harry flicks his tongue right in there beside the two fingers that have quickly replaced his thumb. It's a bit much, because Liam's not done this in a while and there’s only spit easing the way, but it's a _good_ kind of pressure.

Liam feels like his chest might collapse in on itself from how hard he's breathing, these gasps of air really. He stops altogether, whining, as Harry pulls his fingers out, leaving Liam feeling utterly empty. It's only for a moment, though. Harry's lips are on Liam's inner thigh, down close to his cock as he sucks a bruise on Liam's pale skin. Liam's toes curl but then he's cursing as Harry's fingers return to his hole. He feels the cool slide of lube that warms slowly as Harry rubs his thumb over where his mouth and fingers were seconds before. Liam's nearly begging Harry to finger him again; he wants more than just these light touches, _needs_ it, really. He catches Harry's eyes for a second and Harry lets out a long breath and looks almost serene, bedraggled curls in a mess around his face, lips bruised and puffy with kissing Liam's mouth and other places. He still looks gorgeous, though, and it's why Liam can forgive Harry when with no warning he slides two fingers straight back inside Liam, scissoring them apart and rubbing right up against Liam's prostate. 

Liam's cock kicks against his stomach and another blurt of precome spills from the slit and over Liam's skin. He's so wet, so bloody hard, and Harry's taking his time but Liam wants more. Harry's opening him up slowly, and it's good and he could probably come from this - Harry's tongue, and fingers that are so long and perfect for rubbing in _just_ the right place. It's when Harry fits his mouth over the tip of Liam's prick that Liam nearly loses it. His heel thumps on the mattress and his back arches; the only things holding him down are Harry's fingers inside and his free hand wrapped hard over Liam's hip, pressing him into the bed.

"More - c'mon, Harry. Please!" Liam begs, and its ridiculous that it's come to this already but he doesn't want to come like this. He wants to feel everything that Harry is, and he doesn't want there to be any regrets when the morning comes about what tonight is. If he's having this, having Harry, then he wants it all.

Harry sits up, his fingers still moving slowly between Liam's legs - three now - and it's more of a burn than a stretch. Liam can feel every drag of Harry's fingers as they shift relentlessly in and out and it's burning him up from the inside out. "Please," he whispers, words caught in his throat, "please, _please_ . . . ."

"Okay," Harry answers, removing his fingers and nodding at Liam once. "Just hold on."

Harry disappears from view, leaning heavily to one side of the bed. There's the sound of Harry's belt and clothes being shoved around. It's taking too long, and Liam feels too empty. Without thinking too much about it he reaches down under his thigh to bring it up closer to his chest and presses his own two fingers inside. He's hot and slick from all of Harry's attention but it's not the same as what Harry was doing. Harry's fingers were longer and more sure. It's enough to strip a moan from his throat, though. Harry pops up immediately, a familiar square held between forefinger and thumb. 

"Fucking hell, Li! I wasn't gone that long," he says, patting at Liam's hand where he's still sliding his fingers in and out of himself.

"Long . . . long enough," Liam gasps, pushing his hips down into his hand, and Harry's already ripping the packet open. He slides the latex on quickly and tugs at Liam's hand, then lines himself up with a few rubs of his cock between Liam's arse cheeks. The tip catches on Liam's rim once, twice, and then Harry's pushing in and Liam's oxygen is entirely depleted as his breath rushes out. He can't say or do anything apart from lying there as Harry nearly splits him apart and _why_ has Liam waited this long? He loves this feeling. Loves the stretch and the closeness of having someone inside him, and it's so much more because it's _Harry_. 

Harry bottoms out and his eyes flutter shut, and that's fine. That's great, probably, with how much Liam feels like he's going to nut off any second now and before he's had one good thrust on Harry's part. Harry's eyes open eventually, dark and searching Liam's face for something he eventually must find and be happy with. He pulls out almost completely before fucking back in hard and punching a warped groan from Liam's chest. He does this a few times and Liam's hands open and close on nothing, fingertips scrambling for the purchase he had on the duvet before but finding nothing. He can't concentrate on anything but the way it feels when Harry slides in and the sweet drag on the out. 

Harry's chest is lit up, glistening with sweat that slicks his curls against his face as he rocks into Liam again and again. He builds up a quick rhythm fast, the pace knocking Liam's head against the soft headboard so Liam has to put a hand there just to ensure he doesn't knock himself out. Concussion from Harry Styles fucking him into the headboard is not something he wants to have to explain to Simon. Not that he'll be informing Simon of this at all. He does love his job.

He might not have to explain anything to anyone, really, if Harry just wants this to be a one-off. Which Liam thinks he will. 

What more could Harry possibly want with him?

Harry's hand slips around the curve of Liam's thigh and circles the base of his cock. Liam curses, a string of words that have Harry chuckling above him. 

"You're so _loud_ ," Harry says. He leans down and his lips bite at Liam's in a rough kiss, snatching away anything Liam was going to say in return. 

Not that he was going to. Harry's right, for one thing, and Liam can't think about an answer with Harry stroking his cock and Harry fucking him perfect and deep. He keeps Harry close, sucks on his tongue and fucks his own back into Harry's mouth in an action similar to what's occurring between his thighs. He can feel Harry everywhere, and it's this heady thing, this blissful thing, and Liam isn't sure he wants it to end, but he definitely wants to come, wants to feel Harry do the same inside him.

He moans into Harry's mouth and pulls Harry in close by twisting his fingertips into the damp curls at the base of Harry's neck. Liam drags him in and in until there's hardly any space between them. There's just enough for Harry to keep working Liam over and he's _so_ close.

"Want you to come. Want you to make a mess, Li," Harry pants in between kissing Liam’s cheek and nipping at his jaw. "You’re always so together. Lemme see, lemme see you fall apart."

Liam grunts in return because he's _right there_. He's so close to the tipping point and Harry's squeezing a little tight on the upstroke, his thumb rubbing at the precome Liam is so wet with along with Harry's spit from before. His brain has turned to mush so even attempting anything more than to kiss Harry back when he can is asking too much. 

"Please," Harry whispers, this breathy moan of a word at Liam's ear. It's stupid to think that a simple plea from Harry does it, but Liam comes anyway. 

He might groan, might make a sound, but everything goes mute around him as his body tenses under Harry's. His back arches up and his mouth opens wide as he shoots all over his stomach and Harry's fist. He falls back to the bed, panting hard. Liam hasn't a second to come down before Harry's mumbling something at the juncture of Liam's neck and shoulder. He fucks in deep, almost too much for Liam who's still sensitive down there. His cock gives a twitch of interest that's almost painful. Harry stills a few seconds later, pushing in and holding himself above Liam as he groans, his lips vibrating with the sound at Liam's neck. Liam rubs slow circles over Harry's back with a shaking hand until he moves, pulling out of Liam slowly but Liam still feels the space left behind when Harry does. 

Harry's back seconds later, pressing half words to Liam's skin as he mouths down Liam's chest and then - _fuck_ \- his tongue. Harry's tongue is like a brand over Liam's stomach as he cleans Liam up. Liam shudders through it. Can only look down through his lashes at the sight of Harry tracing the dip and cut of each toned muscle on Liam's stomach. Harry bloody Styles, licking up Liam's come like it's something he can't get enough of. 

By the time Harry is done, Liam's regained some control of his senses, only to lose it again when Harry sits back on his heels. He makes a decadent show of sucking every last drop of what Liam gave him from his hand and fingertips. Liam takes in a shuddery breath just _watching_ Harry. He takes in the sight of Harry's chest flushed a most pretty pink, and lower still to where Harry's cock is still half hard. The condom was stripped off and deposited somewhere when Liam wasn't paying attention. He wonders how much it would take to get Harry all the way there again. Could he get Harry off once more, with his mouth this time? Maybe in a minute. Maybe when he can physically move, because right now that feels like an impossible task.

"Be right back," Harry's says with a slow grin, and he slaps a hand on Liam's thigh that has Liam wincing. Harry's laughter follows him into the little bathroom.

Liam's nearly asleep when Harry gets back. There’s a warm flannel in his hand and he wipes it over Liam with soft strokes that make him feel cared for. He's a good person, that Harry. 

"Good friend, Harry is," he says out loud as Harry grabs at the duvet and rolls Liam to one side and then the other to pull the thing off the bed. He repeats the process to get the sheet up and over them both as he crawls in beside Liam. The effects of the long day, sunshine, booze, and a truly amazing fuck have Liam half asleep by then. 

"Liam's a good friend, too," Harry whispers against Liam's chest where he's curled up to Liam's side. Liam doesn't usually sleep on his back and he should probably go back to his room, but Harry's warm and Liam's comfortable, so . . . .

"Best."

"Sleep, Li. Gotta be up in a few hours, planes to catch and . . . ."

He says something else but Liam can't really hear it. He's being dragged under into slumber with a ridiculous smile on his face.

\- - - -

When he wakes up the next morning it’s to an empty bed and a throbbing headache. His stomach isn't that good either, Liam discovers when he rolls over, finding there's nothing but cool sheets and an even colder pillow that his face now rests upon. Harry must have turned the air conditioning up sometime because the room’s like a bloody icebox. Liam's skin peppers with gooseflesh as he gets himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He tells himself that the hurt where he's rubbing at his chest with a tight fist is to do with his hangover, nothing else. 

When he finally makes it to the bathroom, it's clean. There's no toothbrush or that ball of hair ties that he knows Harry keeps on him for when he does yoga or goes for a run and needs to hold his hair backfrom his face. It should be there. Liam tries not to think about it too much; his brain is still swimming in the after-effects from the night before and the fact that he woke up alone. He never really thought Harry would be that kind of guy. When he finishes having a slash and washing his face with cold water he heads back into the bedroom, feeling slightly more alive.

His eyes scan the room surreptitiously as he picks up his pants and clothes, all of which are still on the floor. Noticeably missing are any of Harry's. It makes Liam's stomach turn and he knows now, he knows it's not just the alcohol. When he looks, really looks this time, turning slow around the room, it's not just Harry’s clothes from last night that are gone. His suitcase, which was open and leaning up against the TV unit, is gone. His book and journal aren't here either; the side table is bare where Liam distinctly remembers them being the night before. The condom wrapper is on the floor, though, and it's stupid that it's some throwaway rubbish that does Liam in. 

He collapses back onto the bed, toying with the ripped foil in his hand and hating himself a little for even _beginning_ to think that what happened between them actually meant something to Harry. Liam knew what he was getting into. Knew that for him it could only be a one-off - but for Harry to be gone? For Liam to feel like he wasn't even worth a bloody breakfast and an awkward discussion on how great the sex was that they could never have again? That's not something Liam was prepared for at all.

He swallows hard on the lump in his throat. Rubs hard at his eyes with the backs of his hands and pretends that the stinging there is stray grains of sand from the beach the day before. It's fine. It's fine that this is the way things have come to an end.

It's what Liam wanted, after all. 

The thing that pisses him off, though, as he pulls on the rest of his clothes and pulls the door to Harry's suite closed behind him - the thing that undoes him the most is there's _nothing_ of Harry left. No note. No piece of Harry for Liam to go on. 

When he gets back to his room and switches all his methods of communication back on there's not even a message on his phone or an email. There's an hour until the first of his flights back home; he doesn't have time to worry or even let his brain _think_ about Harry. He doesn't have time to be hurt. A one-off. It's what Liam thought he could handle.

He's not entirely sure about that now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides from the pitchforks*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by the amazing mamacitasan

Liam isn't the biggest fan of flying. He's worse when he's on his own, especially on long flights. While the plane sits at St Thomas he lets himself feel a sliver of hope that Harry will show. That he'll come lumbering up the aisle, knocking into people with his carry-on as he usually does, apologies falling from pretty rose-coloured lips and genuine care in his bottle-green eyes. Liam's seen him win over hundreds with that look, and he's pretty certain if Harry gave it to him now he'd be another number added to that list. The door closes, though, and as they taxi out Liam decides resolutely not to worry about Harry anymore. There's nothing he can do now.

The fact that Harry wasn't even there the morning after proves that Liam was right about it being a one-off on both their parts. It still stings that Harry didn't even say goodbye, just let Liam wake up alone. Maybe he regrets what happened. Maybe Liam is just one of those "life experiences" Harry is always banging on about that Liam should take advantage of.

Whatever it is, Liam let it happen and it's Liam's job to sort it.

He spends the six-hour layover in Miami catching up on emails and drafting and redrafting one of his own. He's never been a drinker on flights, likes to be in control of his senses as much as possible when relying on a big metal box that defies gravity to get him to where he has to go. He has three scotches in the bar, and before he can think about it any longer he hits Send as they announce his flight is boarding.

For a moment his gut swoops and the feelings he's been blocking since he woke up alone flood back in. His eyes sting as he stumbles on board, and he orders more scotch from the attendant before he gets seated. She rubs at his shoulder when she returns once the plane is in the air, four bottles instead of the two he asked for.

"I know heartbreak when I see it, hun," she says, pity or something like it written all over her face. He can hear it in her slow, warm drawl, too. She sounds motherly and nice but it doesn't help him shut any of Harry out. "You sit back and I'll keep the drinks comin'."

He drinks until he passes out, tears still drying on his cheeks.

\- - - - 

It's early when Liam gets into London. He's tired, but he's reached that point where he might as well push on through and get things sorted before he heads home. He catches his reflection in one of the signs while he's waiting on his luggage and he looks awful. His hair's a mess, his stubble looks a tad unruly from not shaving before he left, his eyes are red and aching on top of the headache he has from the booze. He looks as sad and pathetic as he feels, so he washes his face in the men's and changes his shirt to one that doesn't smell so bad and looks cleanish. 

He grabs a coffee at the airport, then drinks it as he waits patiently in line for a cab. He feels sort of numb, a bit off like there's part of him missing, but he can't think about that yet. There's still a little bit of business left to contend with and then he can tear strips from himself for fucking up so utterly and completely.

The office is quiet when he gets in. No one's usually there until after nine, not on a Saturday anyway. He gets to his desk and there are several piles of paper and envelopes that are awaiting his attention so he gets to work. The faster he ties up the loose ends, the faster he'll be home to his own bed and his dog, berating himself for the position he's got himself in. 

An hour passes and then two and he just wants to be _done_ so he can head home. It's when he catches himself falling toward his monitor, sleep tugging at not just his eyes, that Liam decides he can finish anything else later in the week. He tidies up his desk, puts the few things he needs to go out early the next morning in a pile for the assistant he shares with Andy and Tom, and finally, _finally_ stands up. It feels like he's been sitting there for a lot longer than he has; his back cracks as he stretches and it’s oh so loud in the near deathly quiet of the office. He takes a moment to look around and take in the place that's been his home away from home, really, for the past ten years. 

It's strange how much he's grown to love Cowell's. The desk where he's signed contracts and made calls that have put some of his clients on the map. The photocopier where he lost a whole ream of paper inside when Simon yelled at him one day and he was too nervous to figure out how to shut the bloody thing off. He's made so many memories here, and after today . . . well, there won't be the opportunity to make any more.

He pushes his chair in after he's gathered the few personal items he keeps at his desk. Simon isn't big on having your workspace as anything _but_ that, so it's a photo of Zayn and Louis when they'd all gone on holiday a few years back, and one of him and Harry when Harry turned eighteen. He doesn't think too much before he pockets that, too, even if he won't be looking at it again. Not for a while. Not if he can help it.

Liam heads for the elevator but stops when he hears music that he hadn't heard before coming from Simon's office. Either he was too busy trying to get things sorted or he'd blocked it, but it catches his attention now. It's not like Simon to work weekends. It's not like Simon to really _work_ at all; he mostly calls in once or twice a week to check on everyone and make his presence known. Even now, Liam still has a little bit of fear of the man who changed the course of his life, so sue him if he hovers at the door more than knocks on it.

"Stop standing out there, will you, and come in."

Liam nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Simon's voice. He catches the surprised shriek about to leave his throat and it comes out as a squeak instead.

It's manly. Mostly.

He clears his throat before he enters, tugging at his shirt as if it will help rid it of wrinkles. He hates this office; nothing good has ever really come out of it . . . apart from this job. And his promotion. 

So, some things.

Simon's at his desk when Liam turns after closing the door. He's got a bunch of photos in front of him, sheets from the shoot Liam's just been on judging by how often Harry's face and body are spread out amongst the pages. Liam averts his eyes and focusses on Simon instead. It's too soon to be seeing Harry's face up close and flawless. Too recent a reminder of what Liam gave in to that he shouldn't have.

"Sit down," Simon says, fingertips flying over paper with loads of writing on it. 

Liam does and swallows hard. He's not had to be in front of Simon like this in forever, and it's still as intimidating as the first time.

"The shoot go well?"

Liam nods, and then has to answer verbally because Simon hasn't lifted his head. "Yes. The photographer was very happy."

"Styles did a good job."

"Yes," Liam agrees, proud that his voice doesn't waver over the word. Simon has a great love of Harry, has actually taken an interest in his career compared to the other ten or so models Liam has on his books. 

Possibly because Harry was one of Simon's own finds. This sixteen-year-old gangly kid with big curls and big eyes and a rockstar quality set alongside sugary sweet lips and an innocent, cherubic face. It'd taken Simon a year to sign him, with lots of talks with Harry's mum, Anne. Lots of discussion of what would be acceptable and what wouldn't when it came to Harry's face and body being portrayed in the media. Liam had a lot of respect for Anne, going by what ended up in Harry's contract. 

Liam had met Anne on several different occasions over the years. She was lovely, and hadn't forgotten his birthday once. A card and a phone call every year without fail. He's going to miss Anne.

"Good. That's good. Ben was very impressed. So was Caroline. So am I, to be honest." Simon looks up then, looks Liam straight in the eye, and it throws Liam completely.

"Thank you?" he answers, but it comes out more like a question because Simon's never acknowledged him like this before. When he moved Liam from his assistant to being an agent, Liam only knew because his "replacement" directed him to a different desk when he walked in the door one Monday morning.

"How do you feel about New York?" Simon asks, leaning back in his chair. The floor-length windows are perfect for framing the early morning light shining beautifully on the city skyline behind him. 

"New York's great." Liam shifts in the chair. It's as if it's purposely made to be uncomfortable to sit in for even a short time. He hasn't spent a lot of time in this office, and as for everyone else who works for Simon Cowell, it's an intimidating position that no one _wants_ to find themselves in.

Though Liam was expecting it. Just . . . not hours after he sent his letter of resignation through.

"Fantastic. They're expecting you in the next week to get started. I've arranged for Sophia to travel with you, she's wasted on Tom and Andy here, and she knows you well so it should make things a lot smoother. It's your choice as to whoever else you might want to take. I've made a short list of who I think could make the transition, but at the end of the day I want you to run your own ship." Simon stares at Liam some more and Liam has no idea _what_ Simon is talking about.

"I'm sorry?" 

Simon sighs and picks up a thick envelope, leaning forward to offer it to Liam.

"I think you'll find that the package we've created is quite substantial. We've set you up with an apartment for the first three months, but I'm sure you'll be wanting to find a place of your own and an allowance for that covering the first year is included in your contract. We won't open officially until next month, but I'm sure you'll have everything in order before then."

Liam looks down at the envelope in his hands and back at Simon, who's turned his attention toward his computer screen. His stomach is turning and he knows it's not just the hangover that's been making itself known for the last hour. This is . . . this sounds like . . . .

"You did get my email, Mr Cowell? I sent it hours ago. The wi-fi was a bit dodgy at the airport, but—"

"I saw your email."

"I know I'm not the best at wording things - but I quit, Mr Cowell. I gave you notice, sir."

Simon sighs, long and low, and turns in his chair to rest his elbows on the desk, folding his hands under his chin. His dark eyes settle on Liam. "I am aware of that, Mr Payne. I'm choosing to disregard that particular email and put it down to mental exhaustion. Moving your clients around will be fine; I think Styles will be well suited with Andy. We'll sort out the others later. You really do have too many to look after. I'm giving you the next week to think about this offer - why not take two? You never have holidays."

Liam blinks and blinks, his mouth hanging open as he tries to wrap his mind around this. 

"So you're offering me a job in New York? Me?"

"Yes, you," Simon says with the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Not just _a job_. I want you to run the new office. I want you to base yourself there, create a team that you want and start building up our presence in the States."

"Me?"

"What do you think I've been priming you for all this time, Liam Payne?"

Liam sputters, "I didn't even know you knew my name!"

Simon laughs at that, this huge bark of a sound that Liam's never heard in the ten years he's been working here. It's disconcerting.

"Of course I know your name, Liam. I hired you."

Liam shakes his head and smiles. He has no idea how to feel about this, he's utterly flabbergasted. "I don't know what to say." 

Simon nods and smiles then, a proper one that does nothing to settle Liam's stomach. "Say you'll take some time to think about it but that you'll give me a tentative yes and you’re thankful for the opportunity of a bloody lifetime."

Liam snorts and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. "Okay, okay." 

"Wonderful."

Simon settles back in his chair, looking at the computer screen. Liam sits there for another minute before realising that's he's been dismissed, and he heads out the door.

He tries to quit and gets an amazing job opportunity all in one day . . . maybe Liam's life isn't as bad as he thought. The good thing is it'll take him far from Harry, which after their recent mistake is for the best, really.

\- - - -

He's still in a bit of a daze over his conversation with Simon. Taking the lead of a whole office is huge. Leaving everyone here and starting afresh is massively intimidating, but the opportunity is just as big. Liam loves New York. Loves the bustle of people, the way there's always something to do, and he's loved going for jogs in Central Park whenever he's visited. He and Harry spent a good chunk of time there when Harry walked for one of the larger fashion houses for Fashion Week the year before. They stayed for a bit longer after it was all over, being tourists and seeing the sights.

So he won't be able to _completely_ be rid of Harry there. It's fine. He'll probably end up having to see him anyway; it's not like Harry never has any work over in the States. But if Liam's heading the office, he'll always have an excuse not to catch up. Simon's a bit of an enigma here most of the time, so surely it will be explainable if Liam ends up being the same if Harry is about. 

When the cab pulls up at his house his mind is still running over everything Simon talked about. It's no surprise, really, that he gets all the way down the hall and into his living room before he hears it. Well, _them_.

"I'm so sorry!" Liam stutters, hands flying to his face, covering his eyes.

"Jesus, _fuck_ , Liam!" Zayn shouts, grabbing at Louis’ shoulders and pulling him down.

Liam tries to breathe, tries to wipe out the image of two of his best mates going at it on his bloody sofa, of all things. "I - I thought - aren't you two just friends?" he asks, stepping backwards and nearly tripping over the luggage he dropped. It's enough to have his arms flailing a bit, and yes, Louis and Zayn are still naked on his sofa.

Louis is still moving, from the ten-second look of things Liam was just privy to.

"It's complicated."

"I hope you remembered to feed Marley amongst this!" he calls out from behind his hands, wondering how he can escape without seeing anything else.

"Of course we did! Shut . . . shut him in the bathroom because it freaks Zayn out when he watches," Louis finishes on a long sigh. "Now if you - _oh_ ," he moans, and that's enough for Liam. 

"Watches? You've done this a lot?" Liam asks, his voice rising.

"Do you really want to know?" 

No. No, he doesn't. "I'll just - just call when you're, um, you’re done," Liam splutters. He turns on his heel and heads for the door with Louis’ cackles and a long groan from Zayn echoing in his ears.

He heads down to his local as soon as he gets out on the street. Drinking has got to be the only way to push what he's just seen out of his head, to forget for a moment about all that's gone on in the last twenty-four hours. He wants to talk to someone about it all, but he can't go to Louis or Zayn, they're probably still fucking (or maybe they've stopped . . . probably not) at his own house. He'd usually call Harry to come and join him when he feels like this and Harry's about, because Harry has a way of lifting his mood, getting him to smile. That's sort of out of the picture, too, not only because he doesn't know where Harry is but because they didn't exactly leave things on the best of terms. There's all this going on in his life and Liam has no clue where to start figuring things out. How to even begin sorting out this mess he's gotten himself into.

A good few hours later he's still at the bar, turning his glass in circles on the wooden counter, when he hears an unexpected voice.

"Drowning your sorrows there, Li? Mind if I join you?"

Harry. How Harry's here now is beyond Liam's capabilities to work out, so he nods at the stool beside him, his stomach twisting. Harry sits and orders a round for them both and it's horribly awkward. Harry doesn't say anything else as they wait for their drinks. He still says nothing when they arrive, and he drinks his as slowly as Liam does. It's got Liam on edge, this quiet and the fact that Harry is here. It's a little surreal. Liam's life has become full of that in the last forty-eight hours or so.

They're both quiet for so long that Liam settles into it. He finishes the drink he had in his hand when Harry came in and slowly starts on the next. The pub is ancient and mostly frequented by the older majority of Liam's neighbourhood. It's why he finds himself here on most occasions, being able to slip into the camaraderie of people just wanting a bit of peace and quiet and a pint before heading home to their significant others. Here, Liam can pretend that he has one of those. That his life isn't just built around his job for the most part. Built around Harry.

"I saw Simon earlier," Harry says, and it startles Liam into spilling his drink. 

Ernie, who works behind the bar, is there a few seconds later, wiping it up with the ragged tea towel he always has over his shoulder and fixing Liam with a disdainful look. Liam apologises and Ernie's gone again with little more than a huff as he walks back up to the top of the bar. 

Harry hasn't said anything more and Liam doesn't know exactly what he's supposed to say. It takes a few minutes before Harry speaks again, but at least this time Liam is mostly ready for it.

"He said you'd already been in."

Liam nods because it's better than nothing. He thinks he knows where Harry is headed with this and it makes him feel sick. He wanted to speak to Harry himself. He would have. Maybe.

"Fucking _Andy_ , Liam? You want that wanker to look after me? You couldn't—" He breaks off and Liam tenses, waiting for whatever's coming next. 

He turns a little so he can see Harry more clearly and almost immediately wishes he hadn't. Harry looks awful. His hair is this bedraggled mess that he's got pulled into a short ponytail at the back of his head, wayward curls weighed down at the side of his face. His eyes are red and there are dark marks under them, which means he hasn't had enough sleep. He looks sad. Really fucking sad and hurt, but there's anger there, too. Liam isn't exactly sure what he's got to be angry about.

"I was going to say no, right? I was going to tell Simon there was no way I wanted to change agents. That I was happy with you and I wouldn't have it any different." Harry takes a sip of his drink and Liam notes the slight tremor in his hand. The golden liquid sloshes up the sides of the glass as he puts it back down. "But then I tried to think of a reason why my own agent - someone I thought of as a friend, a best friend, even - might want to be rid of me, and—" Harry pauses, his eyes closing for a moment as he takes a deep ragged breath. 

Liam's chest is so heavy right now. It feels like there's this added weight atop his shoulders, pushing him down and filling him with all the feelings he's been trying to forget about since he let Harry drag him onto the dance floor in St Thomas. It was only supposed to be one night. One stupid night, and then Liam had to go and spoil it all by letting himself feel more than he should. He'd let it hurt that Harry had made so light of what they'd done by disappearing the next morning. He should have known it would happen. He shouldn't have let it mean more than it did. 

"Was the sex really that bad?"

Liam shakes his head and his stomach is just in knots now - maybe one gigantic knot - because everything _hurts_ and it shouldn't be this hard to break up with someone you're not actually dating. That’s what it feels like. "No! No, it was good. It was really good—"

"So what's the problem then?"

"That _is_ the problem!" Liam says more loudly than he should, several of the locals turning in his direction and Liam feels his cheeks heat. "I can't do that, be with you like that and be your boss-"

"Simon's my boss. Don't try and use him as an excuse," Harry cuts in, and there's this hurt on his face that Liam hates himself a little more for putting there. But he can't. He can't _be_ with Harry. 

"The thing is,Harry, I can't be what you want. I don't do what you do with people. I need more than that."

Harry stares at Liam for a moment, brows furrowed, silent. The clink of glass and low murmurs of the few other patrons filters in and Liam has to swallow hard around all the words he wants to say but can't. He just doesn't have any fight left in him anymore. Harry shouldn't be here. Harry wasn't supposed to chase him or whatever this is. It's obviously about more than just Liam being his agent or _not_ being that anymore. Or maybe Liam is just hoping that's what this silence means. That he means _more_.

"Right. What I do with people. Because I'm the love ‘em and leave ‘em type."

"You were gone when I woke up," Liam says sharply, and his words sound spiteful to his own ears, making his cheeks heat.

Harry tilts his head a little, looking at Liam for a beat before chuckling softly. It doesn't sound right, though. Doesn't sound like he really finds the situation funny. Not at all. "Yeah, I left _you_. Right," he says. He stands up and pulls his wallet out from his tight jeans and throws several notes on the bench. He pulls at the elastic in his hair, shaking out his curls, and doesn't bother tucking them behind his ear. His green eyes are hooded and hidden under the mess. "Guess I'm just some screwed-up model type who fucks anything that moves. That's me. Thanks for the reminder."

Harry's name is on the tip of Liam's tongue. He wants to say it and take back everything he just implied because he _knows_ Harry isn't like that. Not really. He's had a handful of relationships in all the time Liam has known him and they've always lasted a few months or so. But never more than three or four, and Liam doesn't want to be like that. If he has to hurt Harry a little to save his own heart in the end - well, self preservation is a good thing, right?

Harry doesn't say anything else as he tugs a beanie from his coat pocket onto his head. Liam only watches with a heavy heart and guilt weighing deep in his gut as Harry walks over the sticky carpeted floor and out the front door. 

Liam sighs when Harry's gone and turns around to face his glass once more. He downs the lot in one go, ignoring the burn in his throat. It doesn't matter. Doesn't register all that well, really, just adds to the rest of the hurt Liam is feeling.

If this is the right thing to do, then why does it feel so wrong?

\- - - - 

He doesn't hear from Harry for the rest of the week. He doesn't hear from Harry when he packs up his things and leaves for New York at the end of the month. There's nothing after Simon throws him a great goodbye party, followed by another that same weekend from the now _together_ Louis and Zayn, at Liam's flat. He has to clean up in the morning but he doesn't mind, really. It'll be the last time for a long while that he takes out the garbage here, or gets down on his hands and knees to scrub Louis' red wine from the carpet. His mum cries when he tells her about the job and he promises he'll be home for Christmas. Even though he knows with it only being three months out, he'll probably not make it. Not this year, anyhow. 

He pretends it doesn't hurt a little that he's received a card, or a present, or a little something from nearly everyone he's worked with . . . all except one. He pretends not to care when Andy rubs in the fact that he got Harry a contract with _Numero Homme_ early in the new year, because it's something that Harry's always wanted. Something they'd always worked toward. He's happy for Harry but he still can't bring himself to text him about it. He hasn't made any effort to bridge the gap between them - but then again, he shouldn't, should he? They're professionals now, and even if he's so utterly ecstatic that Harry's finally reached one of his goals, calling him to acknowledge it seems like something people with a personal relationship would do. Liam doesn't have that with Harry anymore.

He gets on the plane to New York with Sophia by his side, rattling off the details of the first week he's got to look forward to. He takes the champagne he's offered in first class and drinks it, nodding for another as Sophia goes on and on. He stares out the window and watches as London slowly slips away and he doesn't feel bad about anything. Nothing at all.

\- - - - 

Five months in, he wonders at how easy Simon always makes it look.

The company is starting to find its feet. He's got a few great agents he liked to work with in the UK over here now, and a few of the ones that Simon found for him to start them off in a new city are great, too. The place is nearing the ability to run itself, with Liam being more of a figurehead at the moment than anything else. He attends parties and launches of perfumes and labels and things, and his social life is more busy than it ever wasat home. Louis and Zayn complain about it often, but they're busy with each other for the most part so Liam doesn't feel _too_ bad when a week or more goes by without them calling one another. 

It's Fashion Week and Liam is insanely busy. He's got phone calls from fashion houses wanting his clients, and parties that Sophia demands he "must attend or what is the _point_ of being here?" Then there's the fact that he's had three phone calls in the past three days about the noise from his apartment. He still hasn't found a permanent place to set up as home. Marley has decided this week, of all weeks, that he wants to bark at every single solitary bird that lights upon the ledge outside their windows. Liam’s head _hurts_ and he can't leave the office, not when he's got a list of a hundred different things to be done before he's due at Yigal Azrouel's runway show later that night. 

Liam loves it. He thrives on the stress and the worry about how everything's going to go until it all comes together flawlessly. He loves his job and he loves this city and he doesn't really miss home all that much. Well, maybe a little. 

Today is a little strange, though. Sophia has been at his side hovering for most of the day, which isn't exactly like her, and it's a little off-putting. He keeps trying to find things for her to do that _don’t_ involve hanging over his head but she finds ways to get out of them, passing it on to some of the younger staff. "Work experience," she calls it. Liam might hint that it's an abuse of power, but Sophia gives him one of those stares she does sometimes that has Liam shutting up quickly. Sophia's really come into her own since they started up here together. She was always efficient, friendly, and good with her head back when he shared her with Tom and Andy, but now she only has Liam to look after, she's doubly so. If not verging on a little _too_ serious with her job, especially since it suddenly means that she's very involved with Liam's welfare outside the building.

He's been on exactly four dates since they got here. All of them set up by Sophia and all of them really lovely. Barring one glaringly obvious fact that Liam doesn't let himself think about all too much. Their hair was too straight, their eyes too dark or blue. Their laugh too serious, their stories too straightforward and not meandering. 

Liam hated himself for making each comparison, but it couldn't be helped. Maybe in time he'll forget about what he wanted with Harry, what Harry obviously didn't think about having with him, either. 

When he makes it to the show that night, it's just as the lights are going down. He's sitting between some popstar his sister listens to and a face he knows from Ford. He actually likes runways shows. Watching models actually _do_ something instead of having to pose standing still is far more exciting. Then there's the music, the clothes, the hype . . . it's sort of like a giant party with really, really ridiculously good-looking people. 

Liam might have watched _Zoolander_ a little too much the night before. It's the only thing that keeps Marley quiet while Liam's at work, or so he's found. 

He settles into his chair, making notes for the next day and trying to look that perfect mix between bored and slightly intrigued before the show starts. The lights turn down and the music changes and Liam crosses his legs, letting himself smile a little because he's heard this year’s collection is a bit out there. A few familiar faces come out and strut their way up and down the catwalk and Liam allows himself a moment to be proud of the work he's done to get himself here. Three of his own clients from back when he was in the UK are involved in this show, from what he's heard, and he has invites to parties with them later. He likes the fact that he's maintained most of his relationships from before. It helps ground him when one moment he gets a snapchat from Daisy Lowe, no makeup and poking her tongue out and kissing her cat, and a text from someone at Vogue about a lunch meeting the next. 

He's about to commit the cardinal sin of checking his phone toward the end, because he's felt it buzz in his pocket at least five times, when his attention is caught elsewhere. He knows those legs. Knows that ridiculous pigeon-toed stance when he gets to the end. Even though his hair's been straightened and his face is mostly covered by a mask, Liam _knows_ those lips. Intimately.

_This_ is why Sophia was acting weird all day. She's been in charge of the list of all of Cowell's models who are on show this week, and she knows of Harry and Liam's past. One misplaced call from Louis when Liam was in a meeting he couldn't get out of helped with that. He should never have told Louis what had gone on in St Thomas. He'd been drunk, and sort of sad about leaving the country in a week. Louis had always been good at getting Liam to own up to his feelings, stripping him bare with a few well-placed cuddles and soft words, and it had all come tumbling out. Louis wanted to throttle Harry and Liam for not asking him about it, but Liam just wanted to leave well enough alone. Louis still thought Liam was an idiot but there wasn't much he could do about it, being an ocean away. 

Now Harry's here and Liam can't leave because it'll be noticed.

He's fine. He can deal with this. Harry turns and walks back and Liam applauds just like everyone else. Harry doesn't spare him a look. Which is what it is. There are lots of people there and lights and sound; it's not as if he expects Harry to notice him anyway.

As soon as the lights go up, though, Liam's the first one out the door.

\- - - -

He misses that particular after-party where he knows Harry will be.

\- - - -

Later that week he's at the bar of a tiny show by a designer that's up and coming who Liam thinks the world of. It's not that she's using his models or that he'd wear any of her clothes - she's a little _too_ far out for his tastes - or the fact that she's from England. It's the fire he can see behind her eyes, the way she doesn't let anything stand in the way of what she wants. She reminds him a lot of himself in some ways, but she has a lot more guts than Liam ever did. It's why he's here tonight, supporting her by bringing in a few contacts he's made over the years. He didn't do much, just made a few calls to a few people, and it was worth it for the hug Eleanor gave him after the show had a rousing round of applause. 

He's waiting on being served when he's knocked forward by a hand clapping on his back.

"Liam Payne! I heard you were on this side of the pond!"

Liam turns around with a smile. The voice sounds familiar and the face is, too. He's not entirely sure of the name and it must show on his face, from the chuckle the man in front of him gives.

"Ben, Ben Winston. I did a shoot with your boy Styles on Necker Island a few months back," he says in answer, and everything locks into place in Liam's mind.

"Yes, sorry, Ben." Liam shakes his hand. "How are you?"

Ben looks good in his suit; his shirt’s a bit bright for Liam's taste but he is a creative person so it's explainable. "Great, mate," he answers, sipping at the cocktail in his hand. "How'd it go with Harry, anyway?"

Liam isn't exactly sure what Ben's talking about, but he assumes it's him leaving and splitting the agency, so to speak. "Good. Simon was very happy with how it all went."

Ben tilts his head to the side, raising one quizzical brow. "Didn't think Simon was invited." 

"Well, no, but he has the final say in things," Liam answers, and the look on Ben’s face makes him wonder where this is heading.

"Wow, you must be glad to be over here then. Don't think I could work for someone as controlling as that."

Now it's Liam's turn to look confused. "He's not that bad, really."

Ben scoffs. "Mate, if I had someone telling me exactly who I could and couldn't take a bloody holiday with around the Caribbean, I think I'd go mental."

Liam shakes his head. "I'm sorry?"

"The boat Harry arranged for you to spend a week on once we'd finished the shoot? He was off early to sort it the morning we were all due to fly out. Had his luggage and all, saying something about how you'd probably already packed and he wouldn't need to do anything but wake you," Ben says with a grin, clapping Liam on the shoulder again, like he's in on some joke.

Liam isn't laughing.

"Oh," Ben says, his brows rising skywards as he takes a step back. "You . . . you didn't - _fuck, shit_. That's why he never said - ahh, pretend I never - oh, I've got to - nice seeing you!" he says quickly, and he walks in the other direction fast, leaving Liam with a lot of questions.

There was a boat? Harry wanted them to go off somewhere and he never even said? This changes _everything_ and Liam doesn't know what to do with any of it. He needs to talk to Harry and find out if it's true, but then Harry never brought it up when they got back to London so maybe Ben misinterpreted it. Maybe the boat and this trip they were apparently going on was just something friends did. 

Liam really can't afford to let his heart go down this road. He can't let himself think about Harry in any other manner than strictly professional. He's already hurt himself once, he can't do it again. 

He leaves the party fairly soon after. Makes the handshakes he has to, smiles when cameras are in his face, and does all the things he should to make Eleanor's night go well. He can't stop wondering, though, exactly what Ben meant and why Harry never said anything at the time. It's been nearly six months since it all happened, and for Harry to not say a word? It makes Liam rethink all of what he thought about the whys and what fors of that night and morning. Maybe it did mean more to Harry - but if it did, why did Harry just let it all go?

Was Liam not worth fighting for?

Then again, Liam hadn't fought for Harry in return. Not that he thought he and Harry could have been a possibility anyhow.

It's all a tangled mess in his head and his heart when he gets back to his building. Each step hurts. It's ridiculous that he's letting one comment get to him so much. It could be nothing; it could just be that Harry wanted them to go on an extended holiday. As mates. Perfectly understandable. He's nearly got himself convinced of this when he steps out of the elevator on his floor. He's even saying it to himself as he heads down the hall to his flat, rubbing his hand at tired eyes. 

He's not so tired, though, as to mistake the form of a sleepy-looking Harry Styles lying against his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait. and the cliffhanger. and the addition of another FINAL I PROMISE chapter. I just couldn't wind it up properly in one and they deserve a little more.  
> GOOD NEWS, last chapter will be up on Friday!
> 
>  
> 
> [TWITTER](http://www.twitter.com/badjujuboo) (locked for RPF reasons) / /  
> [TUMBLR](http://www.slightlytotheleft.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by the epic mamacitasan

At first he thinks it's his tired mind playing tricks on him. Then he thinks he's _losing_ his mind, because they haven't spoken in six months so there's no way Harry knows where he lives and there's no reason for him to be here.

"Oh," Harry says as Liam approaches. He rolls his long body, in the familiar skinny jeans and an oversized black hoodie, up off the floor. His hair’s a mess as he sweeps it back from his eyes: longer now, brushing just past his shoulders. 

Liam blinks and stares - it's hard not to with Harry right there - and says nothing.

"Um, Sophia . . . she gave me your—" Harry chuckles and rubs at his eyes, yelping as his fingers get stuck in a tangle of his long hair. "You look . . . ." He sighs and his shoulders drop as the beginning of a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Can we go inside?"

Liam still can't find his voice, or maybe he just doesn't really know what to say. He's quiet long enough that Harry's head drops, his brilliant green eyes hidden by dark curls. 

"This was a stupid idea. I shouldn't have come." He takes a step forward and another, until he's brushing past Liam. Liam reaches out and grabs at Harry's wrist, stilling him without thinking about it. 

"Don't go," he says, barely above a whisper. "I mean, I want you to come in." 

"Liam—"

"No. No, I want you to," Liam says, because in truth, he does. Ben got his head all muddled up and Harry's here and he hasn't seen him in so long, even if this hurts. At least Liam's feeling something. "Please," he adds softly.

"Okay," Harry answers with a nod of his head, and this feels so awkward. More so when Harry looks down at where Liam's still got his fingers circled around Harry's wrist. 

Liam lets go quickly, his face heating. He hides it by stepping past Harry and fiddling in his pocket for his keys. "Sorry," Liam says, his voice shaking. "It's been a weird night. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Wasn't what I'd planned, either," Harry says softly from somewhere behind Liam that's a lot closer than he expected it to be.

He takes a deep breath and finally gets the bloody key in the door. It's as he's opening the thing that he remembers.

"Marley moo!" Harry crows excitedly as nearly forty pounds of English bulldog come bounding down the hall, claws scratching at the timber floors that Liam knows he's going to have to get redone when he moves out. Whenever that is.

Harry's down on the ground, barely keeping upright as Marley licks and snuffles all over his face. Harry's going on and on about how big he's got, how lovely he looks, and has he "been a good boy for his dad?" and "I'm sorry I haven't seen you in so long" - and the killer - "I'm still your favourite, aren't I?" 

It makes something clench in Liam's heart, because he'd forgotten this. Forgotten how close Harry had become with this bloody dog of his. Harry'd been the one to go with Liam to pick Marley out from the litter of a family friend who’d bred English bulldogs for years. Harry'd been the one to always lavish attention on Marley when he was little. He'd always, _always_ asked about Marley whenever they talked and Harry was out of the country.

Maybe it was why Harry was here?

Probably not. There’s no logic in Harry popping by at this hour of the night - early morning - just to see the bloody dog. 

Liam shuts the door and leaves them to get reacquainted. He sheds his jacket and shoes as he slips down the hall and to the kitchen. His hand shakes as he fills the kettle and he nearly drops a mug as he's getting two out from the cupboard above him. He isn't sure how he should feel and his stomach is twisting with the fact that Harry's so close after half a year of no communication between them at all. Harry's in the bloody hallway catching up with Liam's dog like no time has passed and it's weird. It's really, really weird.

He finishes making the tea and is about to call out and find where Harry's got to when he turns and sloshes the drink all over his left hand because Harry's _right there_ again. 

"Sorry," Harry says with a wry grin, and he steps forward intending to take the mugs from Liam. Liam is sort of standing there still, and Harry takes Liam's hand in his own and turns it gently from side to side with sounds of concern slipping from his mouth. He's got this soft frown as he looks over Liam's hand and Liam holds his breath. Harry's _so close_ and it brings back everything he thought he'd buried since that one night on a bloody tropical island.

"I think you'll be all right. Better put some water on it, just in case," Harry says, and he leads the way over to the sink with Liam mindlessly following along. 

Harry turns the cold water on and it's chilly on Liam's reddened skin. He's ever so glad that he and Harry both have their tea extra milky, because it's not as hot as it could have been. If it were Louis', Liam would have been utterly scalded.

He can almost hear Louis in the back of his head now. _"Just fucking_ talk _to him, Liam!"_

He'd always fobbed Louis off, content with what he knew and the way he and Harry had left things, as hurtful as they were. But now, after Ben's comments? Liam has to know. He _has_ to know.

"I think - I think I'm okay," he stutters, withdrawing his hand from Harry's grip and turning the water off. 

Harry steps back with a shaky breath. "Yeah, yes. Of course you are."

Liam closes his eyes for a moment and breathes. It feels like there's this tension in the air you could cut with a knife, and it's so different from how they've always been together. Even from the beginning - barring the sexual tension Liam has always felt on his side - they've always been comfortable around each other. Well, Liam had to get used to how cuddly Harry was, but he figured it was because Harry was young and in London on his own after leaving his mum and his quiet country town. He'd gotten used to Harry's affectionate ways fast, having experience already from Louis and his constant need to _touch_ , and it’s become a normal part of who they are when they’re together. 

It's strange that Liam can't even handle Harry's bloody fingertips on his skin in the most ridiculously casual of ways now. Everything between them is different, and Liam isn't sure whether it's good or bad. He'll have to ask Harry why he's here to actually be sure.

"Let's sit," he finds himself saying, picking up his own mug and gesturing to Harry's with a tilt of his head. "The living room's just—" He nods out the door, and _how_ is this so awkward? 

He heads out without checking to see if Harry's following - he probably is - because he can't take this tension any longer. It's so, _so_ awkward between them and it should be. It's been a long time and they both said things at the pub that afternoon, and before that at the hotel that night, that can't be easily swept away. All Liam can think about, though, is the boat and Harry not saying anything about it at _all_ and why it's okay that Ben knew and not Liam. Liam, who was supposedly a major ingredient along with the bloody boat for this holiday that Harry never mentioned a thing about.

He could sit in the lone wingback armchair and put the distance of the coffee table and the large sofa between them. He could, but he finds himself sitting on the far right corner of the large three-seater sofa, leaving plenty of room for Harry at the other end. Harry sits down and sips at his drink as Marley wanders in, snuffling about between both of them. He's looking for attention and not finding any, so he heads over to the little bed Liam has set up for him in the corner of the room. 

Liam takes his time with his tea and so does Harry. Liam uses the time well, though, looks over Harry's form as surreptitiously as he can. He's not got a coat on, which is ridiculous at this time of year, it's bloody cold out. He's got his long legs encased in those familiar black skinnies, the ones he loves with the rip in the knee. Liam tried to get him to throw them out but Harry insisted they had character. He does at least have a warm jumper on, this black hoodie that looks vaguely familiar and hangs a little too big on Harry's form. Harry's got his arms mostly across his middle over some white label and he's staring out the large windows that are one of the reasons Liam hasn't moved yet. Even though by all rights he probably should have found an apartment of his own and not be relying on Simon's float to keep him here.

Harry looks lovely but tired. He always seems to look tired when Liam sees him, but that's Harry. He's always pushed his body hard just to make sure he doesn't miss out. "I'll sleep when I'm dead," was his constant battle cry whenever Liam tried to get him to come home at half four in the morning when he had a shoot at eight the next day. Harry wanted to experience it all - as much as he could, while he could. "This model thing isn't forever," he told Liam. "One minute you're in nearly every fashion rag and the next you can't even get a bloody Marks and Sparks catalogue." Liam understood; he'd worked at Cowell's long enough to see it happen. He just didn't think it ever would, with Harry and his face and his charm and how much people _loved_ him.

Maybe Liam just loved him too much to consider things ever going that tits-up.

"I saw Ben Winston tonight," Liam starts, a little shocked that that's where he's going to begin. Then again, it's all he's been able to think about for hours now.

Harry sort of freezes up, his cup halfway to his mouth, but then the moment - if it was even there - is gone so quickly, Liam thinks he imagined it.

"Yeah? How is Ben?" Harry asks. His voice is a little shaky but that could just be from the fact that they've been pretty quiet, sitting here sipping their tea like little old ladies do. It hasn't been so long between them, though, that Liam can't read Harry's tells. This is evasiveness at its finest.

"Good. Asked about you, actually," Liam continues with a sip of his tea, not even tasting it now, more lifting it to his lips for something to do.

Harry nods. He doesn’t look the least bit surprised, which is . . . odd. Then again, Harry always made friends with any and all of the crew on a long shoot, and Ben was nice when they were on Necker Island. Not that Liam noticed all that much; he was concerned a little more with his crush and a half-naked Harry throwing himself all over Liam at the most inopportune times.

"He's nice, Ben is. Stayed at his place a little last year while I had the kitchen redone in my flat."

Liam laughs. "The flat you never spend any time in because you’re never bloody _at_ home and you hate being there on your own?"

Harry smiles and puts his tea down on the coffee table, on one of the coasters Liam has there because Liam _always_ has coasters on his coffee table, much to Louis' disgust back home. Harry's always just gone with Liam's little idiosyncrasies; always polite, that one. 

"It's not like I had anywhere else to go," Harry says, his grin fading as he sits back in the chair. Liam feels a bit of a sting at that. Whenever Harry was in London, he never really spent all that much time in his flat. He was either at a friend’s place or annoying Liam and Marley with his presence, hating being on his own. Not that Liam ever begrudged all that much waking up to Harry curled up on his sofa, snoring like a bloody chainsaw. He might have been a little put out when Harry used his shower. He'd tend to wander about with a towel wrapped around his waist and little more until Liam found him something he could wear home. 

"Well, that was—" Liam clears his throat. It's got to be the tea that's stuck there, not feelings. "That was nice of him," he finishes, and suddenly a million different images of Harry and Ben and them doing all those mundane homely things together are thrust into his mind. Harry wiping the dishes and Ben washing. Harry cooking at the stove and Ben stealing a piece of chicken from the pan. Side by side, brushing their teeth and Harry doing that stupid one-tooth walrus impression he's always sent Liam snapchats of. Them both pulling back the bedcovers, kissing each other goodnight and turning off the lights like some bloody American family sitcom. 

Liam's tea turns in his stomach.

"His wife makes a really great Sunday roast and I played with their dogs a lot. Made me miss Marley a little less," Harry says, and all of the images assaulting Liam's brain of Ben and Harry and their domestic bliss pop like champagne bubbles at the top of the glass.

He tries not to look as relieved as he feels, but the smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips probably doesn't help.

"Didn't really stop me from missing you, though."

And the smile is gone.

Liam puts his cup on the table, too, unable to stomach the last few drops. 

"Liam—" Harry starts. He turns in his seat, shifting forward and looking at Liam now with this seriousness that has Liam's heart beating in his throat.

"Why didn't you tell me about the boat?” Liam interrupts. “Why is Ben fucking Winston telling me tonight that you hired a _boat_ for the two of us, and this is the first I've even heard of it?"

Harry's mouth drops open like a goldfish, but Liam carries on.

"I woke up and you were _gone_ , Harry. All your things, _everything_ was gone and you didn't even leave me a note! There was nothing, nothing at all to say where you were or if you were coming back, so how what was I supposed to think? Do you know how that made me—" He pauses because he's too angry now, but not angry enough to leave himself open to more hurt. 

He's said his piece, now he just wants Harry to answer his questions and go. 

"I . . ." Harry leads off, and Liam has to clench his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. He wants to hear what Harry has to say but he also doesn't, because it'll be too much. He knows it will. "I didn't expect you to go. You were passed out when I left that morning and I thought you'd wait for me. I thought I could handle things quickly and then get back and we'd talk. I didn't think you'd be gone."

"You didn't _think_ , is more like it. You didn't even text or bloody leave a message at the front—"

"I did!" Harry pipes up, his eyes round and a frown pulled tight over his forehead. "I told them to ask you to wait. I told them not to let you check out, but they said you'd gone when I got back and I figured this was you letting me down easy. They must have had a shift change or something because I did! I didn't want you to go."

Liam shrugs and his insides are a mess right now with this revelation, as small as it is. "You could've caught me at the airport."

Harry sighs, running his fingers through his hair before laying his hands on his thighs. "You would have been boarding by the time I got back from the dock. It took longer than I thought it would to get everything squared with the crew and the captain and I thought you'd wait. You always waited before. Then I got back and you'd gone. What was I supposed to do?"

"You could have come after me, you could have done _anything_ but—"

Harry stands and Liam leans back in his seat. Harry's eyes are a wild green flame. "I did! I talked Cara's friend’s boyfriend into a seat on his jet back to London. I went straight to the office because I knew that's where you'd be, you always go back there when you've been away for a while. I saw Simon and he told me you didn't want me anymore, and do you know how used that made me feel? That you would just shag me and then dump me professionally and personally all in one day?"

"I woke up _alone_ , Harry."

"You made me feel like shit."

"Well, then the feeling was quite _mutual_!" Liam says, somehow getting to his own feet in all of this. He's nearly toe to toe with Harry now.

It's a little too close. Harry's nostrils flare as he breathes in and out harshly. They're both staring at each other like they're five and having a bloody contest, and it's the smallest twitch in Harry's top lip that breaks Liam. He snorts, and Harry barks out this laugh that has Marley woofing a little in his sleep, and all the bluster from before is swept away by their laughter. 

They sit back down, a little closer than before - by accident, surely - and their bright laughter fills the room. Harry's hand is covering his mouth because he's always so _loud_ when he's got a good belly chuckle on, and Liam can barely see because of the tears in his eyes. The laughter does slow, though, and the quiet consumes them again as they sit with these revelations between them.

It's not enough, though. It's not enough to know that Harry didn't really mean to leave him. It's not enough to know that Harry tried and Liam had already given up.

"I liked you a lot, you know. I was always trying to get you to see me as something more than your client but you were always so good at pretending that's all I was. Then that night happened and you kissed me and it was the—" Harry’s soft spoken words pause and Liam can see the tiniest smile light his face, and it tugs at Liam's heart. "It was the best thing, Li. It was everything. And then you acted like all I would want was that one night. Like that's all you wanted _me_ for."

"You were gone and I was hurt and—"

"I guess that's another thing we both had in common, because you broke my heart that day. You out of everyone have never made me feel cheap and dirty, but that afternoon in the pub you said all the things those gossip mags do. I can take it from them, but I never - I _never_ thought I'd hear it from you."

Liam swallows hard because he never meant for that. He never . . . he was just hurt and he’d thought a one-off was what Harry wanted, and he's made so, _so_ many excuses for Harry's behaviour. For not hearing from Harry when he was still in London to the nothing that's existed between them for the past five months and a bit. He dismissed his part in all of this because if Liam's good at anything, he's usually good at preserving himself. This, though. Having Harry here and finally talking this all out just makes Liam feel like the greatest tit on earth.

"I never meant to. I would never - _have_ never thought of you like that," Liam says, his voice low and rough with emotion. He wants to reach out and touch Harry to let him know how much he means this, but he isn't sure he should. If he's even allowed. He grips his trousers a little tighter under his fingertips instead.

"That's the thing, though," Harry says, and his eyes are shining too bright to be just reflections from the light above. "I imagined, I hoped, that when you finally kissed me and we fell into bed, it meant something more to you. And then to find out it didn't? To find out that you'd go so far as to leave the country to get away from this mistake you made? _Fuck, Liam._ " Harry chokes on Liam's name and two tears break loose from his dark lashes. They don’t get too far down his cheek before Harry swipes at them with the back of his hand.

Harry looks so young like this. _So young_ , and Liam should know better. Should have known better, being the older of the two in this . . . whatever it was. He should have known how Harry takes the simplest of things to heart. He's watched him in relationships - friend and more - and he _knows_ how big Harry's heart is. How he believes the best of people and is always so shocked when they let him down. He's never become hardened to the world they live in like Liam apparently has. Fuck, Liam's such a twat.

"I'm such a twat," he says without meaning to, and Harry nods.

"You are." 

Liam snorts and Harry looks up at him from under the curls that have fallen forward around his face like a curtain. There are more tears unshed there in his eyes and Liam doesn't want him to cry any more. He takes a deep breath, considering for the first time tonight what he wants to say. How he wants to explain himself more than anything.

"Do you remember my sister’s wedding? It was a year and a bit back now—"

"Yeah," Harry interrupts, brushing his hair behind his ears and wiping his hands down his face with a nod. "You missed it because of me."

"Don't think Nicola's ever really forgiven you for that . . . or me, for that matter," Liam says, and Harry smiles. It’s a bit watery, but it's better than before. 

"You came down and stayed with me, drove all that way in the night because I was sad."

"I did, and do you know why?"

"Not really. I caused you a lot of grief and she was your _sister_ , Liam. Not even that bloody all expenses paid weekend in the south of France that I gave her and her husband made up for it. She's the only one in your family not to send me a Christmas card." Harry sounds most put out and he's pouting, which is ridiculous really. It's just a bloody card.

Liam laughs, though, because he can understand. Liam doesn't get one off her either. He's lucky to get a phone call on his birthday, which he knows because she's told him so.

Being stupidly stubborn is a Payne family trait, apparently.

"So yeah, I drove all that way and risked my sister’s wrath - and my mother's, for that matter - because you needed me. You never asked for anything but you asked for me that night and I knew, I knew when I got in the car that things would be different after that. That you meant more to me than just some name on a list of clients I had to look after. That whatever I felt for you would have to come second to being your boss—"

"You aren't my boss, Liam. You never were."

"I know," Liam interjects, "but I was older than you and your mum made me promise I'd look after you. I'm pretty sure she never meant entertaining the idea of having you in my bed and introducing you to my mates as something more than a friend."

"Probably not. She always knew I liked you more, though. Gave me a right bollocking at Christmas about having so assuredly stuffed things up between us. Said she sent you my portion of her Christmas cake." He frowns. Well, that sort of answers why Liam had two of the things arrive at the office. He just thought Anne was looking after him from afar. 

"It wasn't all your fault, though, and I'm sorry I said the things I did. I wanted to take them back the minute they left my mouth, but I was hurt. I thought I was nothing more than a fling for you, someone that took your fancy for a moment, so it was easy to say yes to Simon about this job when I'd already tried quitting just so it wouldn't have to be uncomfortable between us when you finally got home."

"You quit?" Harry sounds shocked. He leans over to put a hand on the sofa cushion between them. "You love your job, though - and you're here, I mean." He looks confused and Liam feels like he needs to explain it further, but not now. Not now when Harry's here and they're finally talking this through.

"That's a whole other story, but the thing is, Harry, I felt so much for you and I let myself think that I could be like you. I could just have that one perfect night and it would be enough. I never thought it would be the same for you as it was for me. I never thought you could want someone—"

"Like you?" Harry says softly. "Liam, do you even . . . you really are an idiot, you know." 

Liam shrugs, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about how he's sitting here with his mismatched socks on because Marley's been eating the things of late, and the same suit he's worn all day because he didn't have time to change before getting to Eleanor's show. He's got proper scruff on his jaw that isn't there because it's fashionable, it's more because he's been so bloody busy this week that shaving seemed like a bother when it could be an extra five minutes in bed before he had to get up and start answering calls. 

He's still living in this apartment when he's had ample opportunity to look for another, but that means having to do something more grown-up than just _leave home_ and Liam isn't sure about that yet. He didn't even _own_ his own flat back in the UK, and this feels so grown up, what he's doing here. It's a lot, and Harry's always seemed to be the more mature of them both. The first thing he did with his biggest cheque was to invest in a house - not that he lived in it much, but it was his. He always looked so put together, so ready for anything the world could throw at him, and even now Liam feels like he's only just got his head above water.

They're so different that they never would work out. Never.

But it never stopped Liam from dreaming about it. From wondering. Not even now.

It's weird after all this time to have Harry so close, within touching distance. It's weird because Liam still wants to reach out, to close the distance, even with his heart still confused about everything Harry's said, and he shouldn't. He shouldn't _want_ Harry anymore, not after he's made such a bloody big deal about putting Harry behind him. Yet, here he is. Watching. Waiting. Wanting.

It's like nothing's changed between them at all, and yet _everything_ has.

"I miss you," Harry says, so quietly but so very, very certain. He's looking at the floor - has been for a while now, since they'd sort of drifted from their discussion.

"Me, too," Liam adds with a wry grin. His gaze drifts back from the New York City skyline outside the window to Harry at his side.

He catches Harry's eye, and before he can even second guess what he's doing, he puts his hand on top of Harry's between them. Harry smiles, a proper one this time, with his dimples deep and the warmth of it reaching his eyes, scrunched up at the sides like Liam's do when he's happy. God, Liam's never wanted to kiss him more in his life.

Which is something he thought he'd sort of gotten over, but obviously not.

"Is it weird that I really want to kiss you right now?" Harry asks as his cheeks pink up and Liam can feel Harry's pinky finger shift under his hand. 

Liam shakes his head. They've been so honest tonight, what's the point of lying now?

"Not if I want to do that to. Kiss you, I mean," Liam stumbles, feeling his own face heat with the admission.

"Okay," Harry says, blinking fast and grinning so hard it must hurt.

"Okay."

"Okay," Harry says again, and Liam feels like someone’s released a thousand helium balloons inside his chest, making him giddy and floaty like.

They don't say anything else and it's as if Liam can feel every single hair on the side of his body that’s next to Harry. It's like they're magnets and there's this pull there, this need to set things right, make things whole, and Liam isn't sure about doing that. Harry's only here for however long and then Liam has work, and even if he's not Harry's agent he still works for the same company. It can't be anything more because it can't. It just _can't._

"So I spoke to Simon before I came over," Harry says after the silence between them is just about driving Liam insane and he's sure Harry can feel how sweaty his palm is where it's still lying on top of Harry's hand.

Liam blinks and tries to think about where this is headed, considering just seconds before they were talking about kissing each other like they were discussing the weather.

"He said it isn't a firm rule," Harry says with a shrug. Liam is a little puzzled. Air gets caught in his throat, like his lungs can't quite fill properly anymore.

"What isn't?"

"Relationships between staff and that. It never really was - more a deterrent for models not to think they could sleep their way to success or something."

"Oh," Liam says with a slow nod, because it's news to him.

He wants to move his hand but it's sort of glued to the top of Harry's now and every time he sneaks a look from the corner of his eye at Harry, he has to swallow hard because Harry's doing the same thing.

"Still want to kiss you," Harry says in a rush, the words joining together, and this is stupid. This is nuts. 

"Me, too. Kissing you. I would like that," Liam splutters. He scrunches his eyes up. He's so bloody _awkward_ at this. "I would like to kiss you very much."

"Very much?" Harry repeats, and there's a bit of laughter behind those two words, and it comes out loud when Liam finally opens his eyes and looks over at Harry.

"Very much." Liam says again with a nod, and Harry grins at him again and Liam can't stop either.

"So," Harry says and Liam echoes, shivering a little as Harry flips his hand over, sliding his fingers between Liam's. It's a little slippery, which is kind of welcoming. It means Harry's just as nervous as Liam feels.

"So." Liam drags out the word because he doesn't know what else to do. He shuffles closer, closing the gap between them a little, and smiles a little wider when Harry does the same. They're virtually sitting on top of each other, with only their hands between them, and it's so dumb. 

"This is so dumb," Harry whispers with a shake of his head, curls flying everywhere, and Liam reaches over to push them behind his ear without a second thought. He kind of stills when he realises what he's done, fingertips hovering over the curve of Harry's ear, and he knows his eyes have gone wide.

"Sorry—" Liam starts, and Harry's saying his name in return but it's muffled because he's saying it with his lips on Liam's and Liam didn't even realise they were that close.

Harry kisses Liam soft and simple, keeping their lips pressed gently as Liam curls his hand around Harry's neck, drawing him in. Their knees bump and that's all it takes for Harry to open his mouth and Liam to deepen the kiss. Their teeth sort of clack and that hurts a bit, but it doesn't register in the scheme of things as Harry squeezes their joined hands and presses into Liam's touch. His tongue slides against Liam's in an echo of what Liam remembers from that night, but this is so much more. This is Liam and Harry utterly sober and this means something because they've talked. They've laid their hearts open and they’re doing this anyway. Whatever it is.

"I really missed you," Harry says, his lips tracing a hot path down Liam's jaw, and Liam tries to breathe while his eyes roll back into his head. Harry sucks hard at some point on his neck which is probably right over his birthmark, judging by the feel of it. Liam's hand slides down over Harry's shoulder and back to squeeze at his waist and he wonders if this is all too much, too soon.

"I want you so much, Li. You have no idea." Harry's speaking softly but there's this reverence beneath each word, this truth, and Liam can't help but believe it.

"Oh Christ, Harry. Me too, me too," he manages before dipping his head down to capture Harry's lips once more. He kisses him hard this time, kisses him with all the words they've said and all the ones they'll have to later. He just wants to kiss Harry right now, to feel wanted and make Harry feel exactly the same. There are no secrets left between them anymore, just this need, and Liam's tired of denying himself. He wants Harry and Harry wants him and that's enough.

"Can we," Harry says on a breath, when Liam's nearly drugged up on how good it feels to have Harry's tongue in his mouth. He nuzzles his cheek against Liam's as his hand smoothes over Liam's spine, a fiery brand of a touch even through Liam's clothes. "Can we talk more tomorrow, because I really want to get you naked and touch you some more."

Liam chuckles and nods, because fuck if he doesn't want that, too. They've talked enough for now. Now it’s definitely time to reconnect in a much more physical way.

He pulls himself out of Harry's clutches, which is a hard thing to do, and stands and uses their still-joined hands to drag Harry upright.

"Bedroom's this way," Liam says, and he pulls Harry in and kisses him a little more. It's like now they've started, Liam isn't sure he _can_ stop. Not even for the short walk to the master bedroom.

"Okay," Harry says, his lips forming a smile which makes snogging him a little difficult but Liam will cope.

They kiss for a bit longer, just standing there in the middle of the floor, Harry's hand squeezing over Liam's hip. Liam's own hand is at Harry's neck, his thumb at Harry's throat feeling every beat of his heart under thin skin. It's tangible proof that Harry's here and as into this as Liam is. 

"Liam," Harry whimpers when Liam gets a little too carried away with tugging on Harry's bottom lip with his teeth. It's just so biteable, is the thing.

"Harry," Liam says over a moan. Harry's hand slips down over his bum and squeezes hard.

"You said something about a bed or a room with one?"

Liam shakes his head and forces himself to take a step back, out of Harry's reach. Harry looks a little put out, but he's soon smiling again when Liam tugs at their joined hands. "C'mon."

Harry follows and Liam's whole body feels filled up, this golden warmth seeping into the very marrow of his bones that starts with their fingertips pressed close together. He wonders if Harry can feel it too. This rightness that being together, and being honest about everything, has produced. He listens to Marley follow them down the hall, pulls Harry into the room and ducks down to pat Marley on the head before shutting the door in his dog’s face. Marley snorts and snuffles before heading off. It's so quiet between them that Liam is fairly certain he can hear the stuffing shift in Marley's bed when he lies back down, denied spending more time with Liam and Harry.

Harry tugs on their hands then and Liam brings them to Harry's hips, drawing him in. They're pressed so close Liam can see the gold flecks amongst the grassy green of Harry's eyes, the little freckles that even endless tanning sessions can't get rid of in the line of his brow. How he ever thought he'd get over Harry - it was a fool’s wish, really.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Harry's about to say it again, Liam can tell, but he leans in and kisses the word from Harry's lips and starts shifting them back toward the bed. Harry's making these soft little sounds as he gets his hands on Liam's belt and makes quick work of stripping it off, little frustrated sounds when he can't get Liam's fly undone. Liam chuckles as he tugs at Harry's hoodie, also getting nowhere while Harry's hands are otherwise occupied. He steps out of Harry's reach for a moment and ignores the little whine Harry gives when he gets his trousers and pants down in one go. 

He's about to say something about it being easier to get their own kit off when it comes to him just why the black hoodie Harry's wearing looks so familiar. It's Liam’s. Liam's favourite to travel in that he'd lost long before he and Harry were an anything. 

"Cheeky sod," Liam says after quickly stripping his own shirt off. He steps toward Harry, who's bumbling about getting his pants off one ankle. Liam tugs at the bottom of _his_ jumper on Harry. "Didn't know you were a bit of a klepto."

Harry blushes a very pretty shade of red as he rests his fingertips over the back of Liam's hands. "You didn't seem to notice."

"Well, no," Liam starts, because at the time he hadn't. He'd just assumed it was something he'd left behind in some hotel they'd visited. He never thought Harry'd bloody nick it. 

"D'you mind?"

Liam shakes his head, still toying with the hem. "Do I mind that you're wearing my clothes? No, not that much, actually."

"I can return it if you want," Harry says, taking a step back and fixing Liam with this heated stare. "Right now, even," he says, lifting it up and over his head and revealing that he's got nothing on beneath it.

Nothing.

Nothing but Harry Styles, popular fashion model in nearly all magazines at all times, standing starkers in Liam's bedroom. This isn't even a wet dream, this is a nightmare of epic proportions.

"Harry," Liam says when he can finally breathe. _"Jesus_!"

"Nope," Harry says, stepping in and pushing Liam's shirt from his shoulders. "Just Harry."

"Twat," Liam says as he goes in for a kiss. He gets his hands on Harry's bare skin and he's so warm and soft beneath Liam's fingertips as he traces them up and Harry's sides. Feels every little bump of bone as he tickles at Harry's ribcage up and down over and over again, their kiss getting heated fast. Harry's hands rub over the near buzz cut Liam's had since he landed in the US, making these sounds that go straight to Liam's dick. He gets a leg between them and yes, Harry's cock is fattening up too. Liam is close, but he wants to be closer still. 

He gets them to the bed quickly and pulls them both down only to have Harry take charge, getting Liam on his back with Harry hovering over him. He can't stop touching Harry, is the thing. It's like his fingertips’ mission to map out every single bump on Harry's skin. Like every part of Harry is new and ready to be committed to memory by Liam once more. Harry's kissing his way down Liam's chest, scratching his fingers through the coarse hair there as he takes one of Liam's nipples in his mouth, rolling the other between forefinger and thumb. It has Liam's hips bucking up and their dicks occasionally knock against each other, sending licks of heat down Liam's spine. He wants so much and Harry's curls tickle over his belly, muscles twitching with the effort to remain still as Harry's hands slide down Liam's thighs. His fingers curl under Liam's knees and pull his legs apart with a slight nudge. 

It's a fight to keep his eyes open as Harry settles himself between Liam's thighs. This feels very much like what happened between them last time, except there's this open honesty in Harry's green eyes as he stares up at Liam and wraps a hand around the base of Liam's cock. 

He _does_ let his eyes flicker shut then, as Harry licks at his pink lips obscenely before flicking his tongue over the tip, fisting him slow and sure if not a bit too rough with no slick between them. Liam'll take the slight uncomfortable feeling because Harry's _mouth_ is on his dick and that's . . . well, that's something he hasn't let himself think about in a long while. He slides one hand down, dragging his fingers through Harry's hair as Harry goes down. He pays attention to the way Harry's own hips buck against the bed when his nails dig a bit deeper into Harry's scalp than he meant to. Well, that's a thing, then. Liam does it again and has to moan himself as Harry does something wicked with his tongue in return, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks at the head, bobbing back down fast. 

Harry's so very good at this and it feels almost like too much. They've only just started, but with the way Harry's nearly making it his mission to get Liam fucking up into his mouth, which Liam's _barely_ stopping himself from doing, Liam won't last that long. He wants to, is the thing. He wants to get Harry off and he wants to do more than just come in Harry's mouth. He tugs at Harry's hair in a different way, realises Harry likes that too from the groan that vibrates down his shaft as he manages to call Harry's name on a gasp. 

"Haz, Harry. Want—" He can't manage to get the words out, and Harry must realise something is up because he pulls his lips from Liam's dick but keeps his hand there. He shifts back up Liam's body, still stroking him slowly. 

"What? What do you want, Liam?" he asks, his voice deep and syrupy-thick, and _fuck_ , he sounds so hot and wrecked and they've only just begun.

"Everything," Liam answers. "I want everything." 

"Okay." Harry grins and it's so bright and easy and Liam’s heart is so, _so_ full that he has to get his hands back on Harry from where they had fallen useless at his sides. He grips Harry's hips tightly, noting Harry's snorted giggle at Liam’s touch. 

He rolls them over quickly, knocking Harry onto his back with a bounce on the mattress, and captures Harry's lips with his own. He licks the taste of himself from Harry's mouth, swallowing all the sounds Harry makes as he does so. Liam's hands seek out any part of Harry's body he can find; he wants to touch and feel it all. Harry chuckles, this deep throaty noise, as he kisses Liam back. Liam's fingertips trace light over his ribs and Harry laughs some more. Liam can't stop smiling, which makes it virtually impossible to keep kissing Harry, but that's okay because there's more of Harry he can press his lips to.

Liam runs the tip of his tongue down the pale line of Harry's throat. He nuzzles his way down to the birds that have taunted his dreams and traces every curve, Harry swearing softly above him. Liam's fingertips skate down the outside of Harry's shoulders and press firmly at the centre of his biceps, a demand without words that he wants Harry to stay. He wants Harry to let him explore for a bit, and Harry does with a moan. Liam looks up, catches the dark, almost hungry gaze of Harry's eyes and smirks a little before wrapping his mouth around the curve of skin below his hand, right under the star that Liam is still upset Harry had filled in. He's had so many, _many_ thoughts about filling the centre of that particular piece of ink with a red and purple bruise from his mouth alone. A mark around it was just going to have to do. 

Liam sucks at Harry's salt-sweet skin and tugs the soft flesh into his mouth, pulling hard enough that the blood will rush to the surface. Hopefully it'll leave a mark so everyone knows that Harry's his now. That Harry isn't available anymore.

"Fuck, Li," Harry says all croaky, through chapped lips. "I thought you wanted more?" 

Liam sits back a little to admire his work. "I do, just . . . just let me." Liam trails off, pressing his thumb into the already darkening spot around Harry's star. "Just wanna touch you a bit."

Harry throws his opposite arm over his eyes, groaning. "If you keep doing that I'm gonna come and you'll have to wait. _I'll_ have to wait. Haven't we done that enough?"

Liam stops and takes a moment just to breathe and consider Harry's words. He wants _so much_ , but Harry's right. It's been far too long with all these stupid obstacles between them, and now there are none. There's nothing but Harry's golden skin stretching on and on and an endless future ahead of them. 

"Yeah. Yeah, we have done," Liam answers, and then he's kissing Harry again. Harry wraps his legs around Liam's waist and they shift and move until their dicks are rubbing in just the right way against each other with every thrust of Liam's hips and twist of Harry's own. It's so good, so _good_ to feel Harry like this, all naked emotions in his green, green eyes and his warmth under Liam, holding him close.

Harry's right, though. Liam does want more. He wants everything with Harry, and he wants to start that now. 

He breaks free of Harry's lips with a soft groan on Harry's part and reaches into his bedside table for a familiar tube that he only bought a week ago. There's a fresh box of condoms that Sophia gave him with a wink on the first date she set him up on. It's unopened, which would normally make Liam blush in a situation like this but it's Harry, it can't be all that bad.

Harry's unabashed laughter when Liam fights with the plastic cover to get it undone has even the tips of Liam's ears burning.

"Shut up," he says, shoving at Harry who's making grabby hands at the thing. Liam finally gets it undone, ripping the cardboard underneath so they're covered in condom confetti as it falls around them.

Liam just stares at Harry and Harry stares back until they're both laughing so hard Liam loses his balance and falls onto Harry's chest. The bridge of his nose bumps sharply on Harry's sternum and it sort of hurts, but he can't stop. Finally their laughter peters out and Harry strokes a warm finger down Liam's spine, and it reminds him of what they were getting up to. What they were going to do. He tilts his head and presses his lips to the underside of Harry's jaw, pushes up on his toes and nips and his chin. Harry's got with the program by then and ducks down to meet Liam's mouth with his own. He can feel Harry's smile as they kiss, Harry's tongue flicking eagerly over the seam of Liam's lips that he doesn't hesitate to open for. 

Harry's got his hands on Liam's bum now and spreads his legs wide so Liam has more room to move between them. Liam bites at Harry's lips, unable to still the moans rumbling their way out of his throat because the way Harry's moving against him so eagerly feels intolerably good.

Harry breaks away eventually, teeth nipping at the lobe of Liam's ear as he whispers, voice hushed and deep. "Want you. Will you fuck me this time?" he asks, and Liam has to close his eyes, think about his Aunt Agnes and the skin-tight jeggings she wears in summer to stop from coming there and then. 

"Please, it's all I've thought about, I just—"

"Yes," Liam says, leaning in to press the words to Harry's mouth. "Yes, yes."

Harry kisses him back just as hard until Liam pulls away, unable to wait a second longer. He nips at Harry's collarbone, traces the outline of the little bird with his tongue before sucking a mark at Harry's hip at the bottom of one of the fronds that direct his way down. Harry's mumbling words above him but Liam can't hear, concentrating too hard on what's going on. Harry's cock is long and flushed with colour, leaking steadily at the tip, and Liam can't help but lick at the mess, a long, wet stripe from the root up.

Harry's foot kicks out somewhere to the side, giving Liam more room as he curls his hand down over Harry's thigh. It's enough of an encouragement to have Harry bring his legs up as Liam slides down a bit more and prises Harry's cheeks apart. He throws his hand out, fumbling for the lube he put down earlier, and kisses the sensitive skin of Harry's inner thigh in thanks when Harry pushes the tube into his grasp. 

He can't help himself, though, and teases Harry just a little with the dry rub of his fingertip over Harry's hole. Loves the way Harry curses somewhere above when Liam fits his mouth closer, his tongue a quick flick of moisture before his finger returns. He circles the puckered skin slowly and with even pressure until he can't help but lean in again and lick over the same path. Harry's muscles twitch under Liam's hand and he has to rut into the bed a little just to get some relief before he's that turned on he can't think properly anymore. Liam gets the lid off the tube and squirts a more than ample amount on two fingers, rubbing them together for a bit of heat before pressing them quickly to Harry's skin. 

"C'mon, Liam," Harry calls from above, this guttural sound leaving his lips a second later as Liam presses in with one finger. He fucks into Harry slowly until there's less resistance, sucks a bruise into the pale skin of Harry's thigh as he slides in two fingers rather than one. Harry's melting so deliciously under his touch and Liam can't stop touching him. With his mouth, his fingers, breathing Harry in so he's all Liam's senses know. He curls his fingers up, starts feeling for the place that'll make Harry's leg shake, and smiles into the curve of Harry's knee when he does. 

"You're a bloody tease," Harry hisses when two fingers becomes three, Liam's knuckle a constant shift in exactly the right place judging by the way Harry's stomach muscles flutter with every touch. 

"Learned from the best, as I recall," Liam says, remembering just how much he was shaking with it when they were like this but in mirror opposites that one time so long ago.

Harry grins but it's strained. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat that beads at his brow. The perfect line of his throat is thrown into relief as his head tips back on a loud groan.

"And you said I was loud," Liam chuckles. He takes the tip of Harry's cock in his mouth, the bitter taste of precome blooming over his tongue. 

"Oh please, please, Liam. Just c'mon!" Harry whines, fingertips reaching down and scratching over Liam's scalp, his hair not long enough for Harry to get hold of. Liam ducks out of his reach and sits back on his heels, taking in the sight of Harry before him. His skin's nearly glowing in the pale light of the lamps Liam switched on, his ink standing out beautifully, and Liam can't wait to relearn them all. Up close this time. Harry's a panting mess, his chest rising and falling so fast that Liam can almost imagine it's to the fast beat of his heart. His curls are a mess around his face, some drawn and bedraggled with sweat and others a fuzzy near-halo around his head. Liam wants him so much, is still so shocked, really, to have him like this, some part of him still unable to believe that Harry wants him, _him_. 

Liam gets his hand on one of the many condoms still littered over the bed and opens it quickly and with a slight shake in his hands, gets it fitted on. He wants this so much, even more so when he takes notice that Harry's got a hand on himself - has given up waiting on Liam, probably. Liam empties a bit more lube onto his hand and slicks himself up properly before leaning in and kissing Harry, knocking his hand out of the way so there's nothing between them anymore. Harry kisses back eagerly, soft moans only getting louder as Liam finally presses in.

Liam takes it slow, as slow as he can when it feels so amazing to finally slide inside Harry. He's tight and hot and nearly pulling Liam in with his knees around Liam's waist, shifting higher as Liam bottoms out and _fuck_ , he's in Harry so deep. They don't move for a minute or more, Liam content to wait until Harry's ready. Kissing him seems to be a little more important, fucking with their tongues taking precedence until Liam can't wait anymore. He pulls nearly all the way out, then fits his hands under Harry's knees and hikes them up to his elbows. He leans down, braces himself on the mattress, and pushes back in, knocking the wind out of Harry. 

"Fuck, _Liam_ , fuck, _fuck!_!" Harry cries. Liam doesn't waste a second more but fucks into Harry proper now, with long, even strokes that have the headboard shaking and this bloody bed making loud creaking sounds. Liam licks a line down Harry's neck, sucks a bruise over the tooth marks he left in Harry's collarbone before. They've made so many mistakes getting here and Liam wants it to last, wants it to mean something between them. 

When Harry manages to fit his hand between them to tug himself off, Liam thinks maybe he can save that for the next time, knowing there will most definitely be one. He brings his mouth back to Harry's and kisses him deep, swallowing all the sounds that Harry makes as he climbs closer to his peak. Liam can feel how close he is himself, this tingle in the tips of his toes burning up through his legs and taking root in the pit of his stomach. He loses himself in how it all feels. In the sounds Harry's making, in the dulled scent of Harry's cologne masked by sweat and _boy_ at his neck, and the rapid beat of Harry's pulse under his tongue. Harry's hand sweeps over Liam's back, his blunt nails a dull ache as they scrape across Liam’s skin when Liam does something particularly good and _fuck_ , he can't hold off much longer.

"Want you so much, Liam. You feel so good, so good." Harry is babbling now and Liam wonders if this is how he was when they were in reverse. If Harry's comment on Liam being so loud was because he didn't shut up and suddenly it seems like that should be one of his goals. Fucking Harry into silence. Maybe next time, though, as Harry seizes up underneath him, these sounds punched from his chest as he comes between them, his body wrapped tight around Liam's own. Liam fucks him through it slowly until Harry's hands slip onto the bed and his legs loosen their hold. Liam pulls out then, lost in how Harry's hole twitches like it's missing something as Liam rips the condom off, throwing it somewhere to the side of the bed.

"Come on me. Please, Li," Harry says, licking his lips and staring up at Liam with eyes glazed and soft, almost out of focus.

He lifts a hand toward Liam, patting at his thigh and squeezing. It's the added touch that does Liam in. He strokes fast over the head, Harry's name on his lips as his orgasm begins. He slumps forward as he strips himself off, covering Harry's stomach and chest in thick ropes of come. He loses all sense of equilibrium when he's done, falling onto Harry with a thump, breathless, as Harry presses kiss after kiss to his brow. 

\- - - -

They're lying there later, Liam having rolled onto his back after ducking out to the bathroom to get a cloth to clean them both up. It's quiet apart from their breaths, slow and steady between them when Harry rolls on his side, a hand on Liam's hip encouraging him to follow. 

He does, and can't help grinning because Harry's doing the bloody same. They're disgusting, really. They're going to make people sick if they can't stop looking at each other like this when they're together. It's nice, though. It makes something warm and wonderful pulse in Liam's heart.

"You know - you know I can work anywhere, right? Base myself in virtually any city that's got an airport," Harry says softly, almost hesitantly, watching Liam with these big green eyes that look even bigger than normal with how close Liam and Harry are. Their faces are inches apart as they share a pillow. Harry's got his hands curled up under his chin and he looks young, _so young_ like this, reminding Liam of the six years’ difference in age between them. Not that it matters, it shouldn't matter, but this sounds like Harry wants to move, to be with Liam properly, and that's big. It's very big. They've barely sorted out their miscommunication problem from before, and now this?

It would be so easy to give in and say yes, stay with me, be with me.

"You could," Liam says instead, because of a hundred different reasons telling him to talk Harry out of this, the one where Harry is offering and wants to be with Liam is reason enough. 

They've wasted enough time apart. 

Harry grins a bit, dimples just showing in his cheeks. "I heard there's this great agency over here, got a real slave driver for a manager, but I'm not one to shirk a little hard work."

Liam bites at the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He shifts his legs, hooking one ankle around Harry's. "There'd be no special treatment, mind."

Harry nods and the smile is in full force now, his hands slipping out from under his head to pat lightly at Liam's chest. 

"Not at work, anyway." Liam says before pushing up on his side and rolling on top of Harry, whose surprised laughter echoes in the room. 

Liam fits himself between Harry's legs, pressed close from the waist down as Harry's hands grip tight on Liam's upper arms, holding on or holding him up, Liam isn't sure which. He ducks in low and rubs the tip of his nose over Harry's, who goes a little cross-eyed trying to watch what Liam's up to. 

He's so, _so_ in love with Harry, it's hard to imagine that he ever thought he could stop. He could tell him. He could tell him now and he's quite sure that Harry would return the sentiment, but they've always gone about this wrong. This time Liam wants to do it right. Proper, even.

"In the bedroom, however . . . ." He trails off, content to kiss the smile from Harry's lips and the answering moan from Harry's mouth.

Maybe they'll start doing this right, the whole dating and taking it slow thing, tomorrow.

It's too early in the day for today to count.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for sticking this out.. even with the added wait for this last chapter. I hope it ended well enough for you all! 
> 
> Much love to E and M for pushing me to the end and Gingerheels because she's awesome. 
> 
> x


	6. Where I Lay My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little coda for [Gingerheel's](archiveofourown.org/users/gingerheel/pseuds/gingerheel) birthday: Harry and Liam and living arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Christina! 
> 
> You are one of the FEW people I ever write special fic for - and tbh I had your birthday marked from the LJ notice to write you something and then your LOVELY Tumblr messages just gave me points to start from. I have notes on the others so expect those anytime I a) need to procrastinate over writing two big bangs or b) christmas... because you always get a christmas fic! 
> 
> Hope you had a BRILLIANT DAY!! xoxo

The hardest part about choosing where to live wasn’t the city or what continent. It wasn’t even what type of house they wanted - a little bit of grass for Marley to run about on and for Harry to practice his yoga when he was in town. It wasn’t even the kitchen cabinets or how many bathrooms or even what type of light fittings.

They’d worked out all of that. Three beds (enough for friends to crash if they needed), two full baths and a loo near the living area for when they had parties - neither of them wanted anyone coming into their private space. Not too much of a lawn because neither of them were avid gardeners but they did like something to look at that was green and had a few flowers with some pretty scents here and there. A garage big enough for both their cars and Harry’s motorcycle collection. 

Not that Liam really called two bikes a collection, but Harry did and Liam didn’t really have it in him to argue considering the crates of vinyls he’d accrued over the years would need a space for themselves, too. At least Harry got around on his bikes, Liam hardly ever had the time to lift the dust covers from his records, let alone play them. Though Harry did like to a few Rolling Stones albums in the house for late at night when they’d come home tipsy from some event and he wanted to dance.

The only issue was not being on the same continent to actually _look_ at what they wanted. 

Simon had decided to take a leave of absence once his little boy was born and had handed the reins over to Liam for the next few years while he enjoyed fatherhood. Which was amazing, bloody terrific really considering how young Liam was (which Simon shot down when Liam had brought it up, he would be older than Simon when he started the damn company). Liam and Harry ended up moving into the house Harry had never truly spent all that much time in and were happy enough to wait until their perfect home came along. 

Until Simon decided three months into his break that he was moving up the opening of the Japan office. Liam would have been fine overseeing it from the UK until Andy pissed off some of the crew and suddenly all the contracts they had on the building site were being blocked left right and centre. Then there was the added stress of sorting out his new assistant seeing as Sophia had taken on the New York office when Liam had moved back to the UK. He and Sophia had been a team for three years in the US, and he really didn’t realise how much she _did_ do for him until he’d turn to the new lad - Josh - and wouldn’t find him at his elbow like Sophia would have been. Plus, Josh wasn’t just new to the PA role he was new to the industry and even though he came with glowing praise from his former boss he just wasn't. . . well he wasn’t Sophia. 

Then there was Harry.

Harry’d been offered the opportunity to judge on Britain and Ireland’s Next Top Model for this cycle with a view to more if all went well. He and Liam caught up as often as they could, wherever and whenever they could and talked constantly through text and Skype, never going a day without keeping in touch. They’d successfully pushed through their communication issues at the start - not that it had been easy. Both of them could be stupidly stubborn when they wanted to be which lead to them seeking out a therapist at the six month mark of being together. Liam had been up to his ears in work, attempting to sign Marlon Teixeira who’d been with Way Model Management for years and nabbing him would be a real coup. Harry’d been stuck in London for Fashion week which was more of a month than a week and they’d hardly talked at all. Harry got a bit jealous of Liam being seen wining and dining Marlon and Liam was annoyed that _Harry_ was annoyed, but they sorted it out. 

They’d nearly lost each other once, they weren’t about to do that again.

That and Louis got a tad sick of hearing Harry whine because of _course_ he used Liam’s best friends as sounding boards seeing as he was in the same country and Louis’d basically shoved them into the same room once Liam had flown over to finalise things with Simon and that was that really. Couples therapy for the rest of the year and now only when they felt that decisions needed to be made where they both might need an added help to sort out their emotions from what they actually wanted. 

It should have made things easier. A continent. Jobs that mean most of the time they’d be able to come home for the night. A perfect list of what they were looking for. Then the Japan thing happened and Liam’s assurances of “It’ll only be for a month” turned into “a few more weeks” and was now headed into the end of the third with no real end in sight.

It sucked, and Harry made up for it in stupid videos of every house he toured, but Liam could tell the distance was wearing on him. He knew it was wearing on himself. He hated being so far from Harry, not waking up in bed together, or simply being able to hear Harry’s voice through something other than a marvel of fucking technology or such. He just wanted to be _home_.

Which is why he flies back early one Thursday when he knows Harry’s off in Ireland for part of the show and won’t be back until at least Monday after. He’s left Josh holding the fort - because really, they might not know each other backward and forward yet - but Josh is a good lad and he knows what he’s doing. He just finds Liam intimidating is all, which Liam finally got out of thim after they’d both drunk far too many sakiritas celebrating righting the last of Andy’s wrongs a week earlier. There was still loads to do, but Liam needed this. Harry needed this. 

It does take him the better part of a day to get what he wants organised, and all of Friday to pack up the house and shift everything into storage. He recruits Louis and Zayn to take care of Marley - this time in their own home where he can play with their two dogs and hopefully not be scarred by any further sexual escapades the two of them have. Which, knowing the two of them, even after all these years together, is entirely possible. 

The painters, and an abundance of tradesmen have him up bright and early on Saturday . Yeah, it’ll make a dent in their bank account, but Harry hardly ever checks the bloody thing so Liam hopes that that remains true at least until after the weekend. Sunday sees the stylist and her team of people come through and Sunday night is when Liam’s left lighting as many of Harry’s bloody scented candles as he can find to rid the house of any chemical smells. He falls asleep around three am after hanging the last of the artwork Harry’s had in storage for years and doesn’t wake up until he hears someone calling his name softly, fingertips a slow drag through the curls where his fringe has flopped down over his eyes. 

“Liam, babe, wake up,” Harry calls and Liam licks his lips, struggling to get his eyes open. 

“Oh you're home early,” Liam whines, he thought he’d have more time. Harry’d mentioned he’d be getting in around midday - not that he knew Liam was home and waiting and hoping to have more things _done_ by then.

Harry snorts, “Sorry, but doesn’t that actually apply more to you than me? You’re supposed to be in Tokyo!” Harry pokes at Liam’s stomach making him wince. 

Liam reaches out blindly for Harry, finds his waist and slides his hand around Harry’s back, pulling him onto the bed. Harry falls heavily, mostly on Liam which he sort of regrets as the air rushes out of his lungs with Harry’s added weight. Harry’s laughing though, even as Liam grimaces which is. . . it’s such a fucking joy to hear after being apart for so long. He nuzzles his face against Harry's throat, presses his lips to the underside of his jaw as Harry’s legs fall apart over Liam’s waist. He fits himself close, twisting his head to the side so Liam has more of Harry’s jawline to explore, the vibration of Harry’s hums of appreciation a buzz against his lips. God, he’s missed him so much.

Liam lets his hands wander idly up and under Harry’s shirt - one of those see through flimsy things he likes to wear by the feel of it - and over the warm skin of Harry’s back. Harry murmurs something that Liam can’t make out, but then his lips are on Liam’s instead and Liam sort of forgets about anything else. Kissing Harry is one of his most favourite things to do. Each and every time is new and yet also the same - familiar even - as each press and nibble sends sparks of _want_ and _need_ and _Harry_ under his skin. Harry’s fingertips slide into the soft mess of Liam’s hair guiding their kiss as Liam groans, his hips pulsing up from the way Harry’s grinding down above him.

Liam pulls back, takes a breath as Harry nips gently at his chin, squeezes at the dip in Harry’s waist where his hands always seem to fall when they’re like this. Harry takes note, his hands slipping to the mattress on either side of Liam’s head, his green eyes look tired but still so filled with happiness that echoes in the depth of his dimpled smile. Liam’s own cheeks pull up in a similar manner. 

“Hi,”

“Hi,” Harry answers, rubbing the tip of his nose against Liam’s. “What did you do to the house, babe?”

Liam drags a soft fist over the knobs of Harry’s spine where he’s curled over Liam. “Little of this, little of that,” 

Harry rolls his eyes, a few shaggy curls bouncing about where they frame his face, the rest tucked away into a bun low at the nape of his neck. 

“Okay,” Liam says, biting down on a grin. “The thing is, we have a house, yeah?”

Harry nods, playing along as Liam takes a reassuring breath, even though he’s almost completely certain Harry won’t think his idea is stupid. Maybe ninety nine percent sure. Close to it.

“Like, I was sitting there looking over the last set of houses you sent me,”

“Did you like the one in Surrey? I know it's a bit bigger than we wanted but it had such a great feel to it and the greenhouse was-” the rest of his sentence is muffled by Liam’s lips, though he’s careful not to get too carried away. 

“Yes and it was nice, yeah, but huge yard, Harry. Way too big for us right now,”

“Okay but what about that townhouse in Kensington, the kitchen wasn’t too big but I mean we could-” 

Liam starts laughing then, has to put his hand over Harry’s mouth, watching as a line forms between Harry's brow as he mumbles on. Liam only takes his hand away once Harry’s started licking it. 

“Oi,” Harry says and Liam echoes with an, “Oi, yourself! I’m trying to tell you something,” 

Harry frowns and purses his lips. It’s probably the most Liam’s going to get as an assurance that he can talk uninterrupted for the next few minutes. Now he’s got Harry’s attention, his stomach is all twisty because, what if this isn’t what Harry wants? It’s not _entirely_ too late. Everything he’s had done in the last forty eight hours or so can be undone. Possibly.

“So just hear me out, yeah?” Liam says, swallowing hard as Harry nods slow above him. “It occurred to me, when I was looking at all the places you’d sent, that there was a lot that were great. A few that weren’t but most had all the things we’d made that list for,”

“Which is why we made it which is why i’ve been-” Harry purses his lips hard again as Liam glares at him a little. “Fine, I’ll be quiet,”

“Thank you,” Liam near sighs. “The thing is, all those things, okay, _most_ of those things we already have? And I just. . . this house has so many memories already and enough rooms and close to all the things we love. I just thought, maybe we could fix it a bit, add the extra cabinets in the kitchen and extend the sunroom out like you wanted and add another tub upstairs-”

“Did you, did you do _all_ those things? Like, I saw you had french doors put in in the living room and you put up my Tracy Emin,” Harry smiles soft, his head tilting to the side and eyes looking as fond as Liam felt when he had the electrician come to put it up. 

“We don’t need a new house, Harry. We have everything we need right here to make a home. Just. . . you and me. That’s all that matters. We’ve already put off so much of what we want to do just because of this house. There’s more than enough room here for us. More than enough room here for more if we wanted,” Liam ends and yeah, he’s been thinking about _that_ too a bit. What it’d be like for them to start a family. 

Harry sits up, wipes at his eyes a bit from where Liam could see how glossy they were becoming with every word he said. “Has Simon been getting in your ear?” he asks, all choked up.

His cheeks flush with heat as he shrugs, “A little. I mean, you’ve seen Eric. He’s adorable,”

Harry laughs and leans in kissing Liam soundly.

“I really fucking love you,” he says, green eyes lit up bright as he kisses Liam again.

“It’s not a stupid idea then?” Liam asks, groaning a bit as Harry shifts against him, scattering tender presses of his lips over Liam’s cheeks and jaw, even his brow. Harry’s got him all lit up on the inside from his reaction. Liam truly does love it when a plan comes together, and if he can make Harry happy out of it, even better.

“Yes, god yes. Like, I love this house. I chose it with you in the first place so really, it’s been ours all along,” Harry grins and shit. Liam had forgotten that. Forgotten the list of houses Harry’d made him look at the first time around, when Harry’s accountant told him to invest and Liam was reporting back to Anne on Harry’s well being. She was ever so happy then, that Liam’d been around. She was still pretty happy now that he wasn’t leaving, either.

He’d still taken home two Christmas cakes when they’d spent Christmas Eve with Harry’s family and Christmas Day with Liam’s after last year and the year before. 

“I just need you yeah? You and me and Marley, that’s how we make a home.”


End file.
